


Blood & Mistletoe

by HollyDB



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Claiming Bites, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light-Hearted, Romantic Comedy, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyDB/pseuds/HollyDB
Summary: A not-so-brilliant idea for a Christmas present goes horribly wrong when Buffy and Spike find themselves literally glued together for the holidays. / Season 4, post-Something Blue. Originally written in 2003/2004; revised in 2017





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The second of my old fics to get the edit/rewrite treatment. Decided to go for Christmas in July. I believe this was written around the same time as Harbingers of Beatrice, but I don't have a clear record so I'm going off memory for the accurate first-edition date. All I know for sure is it is one of my earlier-fandom works.
> 
> Not ashamed to say I was inspired to write this after seeing an episode of Family Guy where the same thing happened to Stewie and Brian. The idea amused me WAY too much at the time and hell, it still does.
> 
> This should be a quick revamp since the fic is only 6 chapters long. Enjoy!

It had seemed like the best of best ideas at the time, especially since in years past, Buffy had somewhat lacked in the gift-giving department where Giles was concerned. And being that this was her first Christmas as an adult-type person, she wanted to give her watcher something more than the same old necktie or pair of socks, which had become more or less her staple.

Even better? Willow agreed that her plan was Genius, with a capital G and everything.

That was where  _better_ began to take a nosedive. Impressed with Buffy’s plan, Willow had reasoned if they all went in on it together, it’d be an even better gift. And benefit for all involved in the form of less financial strain. Because, hey, poor college students.

Within fifteen minutes of Buffy and Willow having completed their final pre-winter break class, Xander had been informed of the gift plan, was on board, and promised to do his part before he and Anya left for Oregon for the obligatory seasonal family visit.

Whatever indignation Buffy might have felt at having her Genius—still capital G, thank you—plan so brazenly hijacked by her closest friends faded fast at the logic behind Willow’s suggestion. After all, Xander needed as much QT with the Scoobies as possible before he faced the family with his ex-demon sex-crazed girlfriend. Plus he was the only one around who was good with tools. Though slayer strength did have its perks, it didn’t come with the promise that she would be especially proficient in shop class.

“We’ll do it at his house,” Xander had said. “Come on! All that space and Giles isn’t gonna be back until Christmas Eve anyway. Plenty of time to get it done and cleaned up.”

Buffy should have taken that as hint number one that this was, in fact, not a Genius with a capital G idea. But she didn’t because it was the first gift she was actually excited about giving. And nothing, not even blind-freaking optimism and a statement that all but screamed  _jinx_ would convince her otherwise.

It was strange not having her watcher around—like ‘the parents are out of town/cat’s away’ sentiment. Even stranger that Giles had given Buffy his house key and asked her to watch Spike while he was gone. Like Spike was a stray cat or something, which, she guessed he kind of was now. A formerly fierce, currently declawed creature that got its jollies by stalking across rooms and knocking things off shelves just because he felt like it.

Yeah, Spike was an asshole. Kind of like a cat. And somehow her problem.

It wasn’t until Buffy arrived at Giles’s place for her first ‘feed Spike’ shift that she remembered fully how very much she and the platinum pest did not get along. And that, unlike cats, this was one asshole who could talk back.

Even worse was Spike had made it perfectly obvious that checking in on him wasn’t going to be good enough. The vamp-cat needed constant supervision in order to not destroy the apartment—even if left in chains, he’d find a way, he’d said. And she believed him. So Buffy had moved in for the time being. And now she had awakened for the fourth day in a row to an obnoxiously alert vampire who insisted on padding after her as she performed her morning routine.

This wouldn’t have been a problem under normal circumstances. Nothing solved a problem like an annoying can’t-stake-you-because- _ugh-reasons_  vampire like chains in the bathtub. The trouble was, after Willow’s botched spell of just a couple weeks ago, Buffy found, to her utter horror, that she kind of liked touching Spike, and therefore made it her goal to do as little touching as possible.  Because she’d already done the touching thing with him and  _no thank you._ She wasn’t even a cat person, for Chrissake. Give her a loyal dog any day.

Except the eyes she looked at him through now seemed intent on finding new, unicky things to focus on. Like his lips, which she remembered as being firm and sexy as sin. Like his lickable jaw. Like the black-tipped fingers attached to hands that had gotten more than a little friendly with her.

Like the way he’d catch her gaze and look at her in ways that made her think he knew damn well where her mind was and, despite his earlier protestations, wasn’t too far behind her.

_Not going there._

It was strange. Looking at Spike in a different light was very much of the strange. And it wasn’t so much a different light—more a  _my-god-has-he-always-had-those-cheekbones?_  kind of light. A realization sort of light. The realization that she had never before been with a man who didn’t tower over her. That she’d felt genuinely adored and safe when he’d held her with those lean, mean wiry muscles of his.

Of course, that was the spell talking. The very, very bad spell that she needed to forget. Spike  _didn’t_  adore her and keeping her safe was far down his list of priorities. And yes, while each step he took practically oozed of sex… Well, that was no reason to think of him any differently. Aside from the occasional look he threw her way, Spike had gone straight to the pretending the spell hadn’t happened, which was really all the same to her. After all, she had told him to get on with forgetting and to never mention it again. Also, she was supposed to have done a memory spell to eradicate all these not-normal thoughts…but being that she didn’t trust Willow not to make her think it was her life’s ambition to be a chicken, she hadn’t let her friend anywhere near her cranium.

Though maybe she should have because Buffy’s stupid mind kept dragging her back to the way Spike had felt against her.

So that was the reason she didn’t look forward to the daily task of chaining him up. The real reason. Not the  _ooh, Spikey so incapacitated_ reason she liked giving her friends when Spike was in the vicinity. It was also the reason Spike had more or less free reign to torment her in his petty, can’t-be-evil-but-can-be-annoying ways, like fighting over the remote, bickering about dinner, and arguing the values of an action classic versus a well-known chick flick.

Not that Buffy cared much for chick flicks. But if watching them annoyed Spike, she’d keep them going twenty-four/seven.

Stupid things like that.

Coupley things like that.

Things had gotten better the second night. In order to be released, Spike had made a show of being on his best behavior. And while she hadn’t bought it for a red hot instant, Buffy had enjoyed the silence and the occasional-forced compliment he’d choke out, if only because she saw how uncomfortable it made him. And the neighbors undoubtedly appreciated the break from the constant screaming matches.

The third night, Spike had all but pleaded with her to let him go. Told her that Giles never kept him locked up this long. Told her that his joints were getting stiff. Told her that he was going to start smelling like the dead. Told her once that he hadn’t had a good wank in days and was really itching to release some tension—though she was more or less certain he’d said that just to see her blush.

If that was the case, he had succeeded. But he’d also earned himself one slammed door and a night of being ignored.

Tonight was the fourth night. There were two more to go before Giles got back from his family thing or whatever had driven him to London. And since they had finite time to get the brilliant Christmas present constructed, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about Spike at all since arriving back from the shop. Not even when Anya and Xander had shown up for pizza and he’d wailed about being hungry. Not even when Willow had whipped out some festive cookie dough and started baking. Every scream and shout and murmur and whine went in one ear and out the next. What she was making was far too important to allow herself to be distracted with insane spell-induced obsessions.

Giles’s brilliant beyond brilliant Christmas present was a new and improved weapons chest, layered with engravings of his favorite and hazard-free sacred emblems. And though Buffy had been initially peeved when Willow and Xander had decided to piggyback her Christmas gift idea, a few hours into construction convinced her there was no other way they could have done this. Her hands were killing her and her back was sore from being hunched over a workbench, and she had all the slayer strength. Were it not for Xander, this gift would have ended up in the big book of Christmas disasters.

Phase two of Giles’s present would be to clean up the mess they had made in bringing Buffy’s Genius with a capital G idea for a Christmas present to life.

“Okay,” Xander said over the festive Christmas music currently playing on her watcher’s prized stereo. He sat up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “If we wanna get this anywhere near a state called done before Ahn and I leave tomorrow night, we’re gonna have to get more supplies.”

Buffy’s face fell. She stared at her friend for a few long seconds before turning to survey what damage had already been done. The place looked like a certified disaster area. “More supplies?”

“Yeah. I’m assuming you want this chest to have functioning hinges? Maybe a handle? And oh, right, a lid?” Xander shook his head with a laugh. “We’ve exhausted our resources and now must leave and get more.”

Buffy sat back on her legs, pouting. “I thought I got enough wood.”

“You did,” Willow jumped to agree. “For the, you know, chest itself. Not for the lid. And I need to go and see if they have that book at the Magic Box, anyway.  _A Beginner’s Guide to Magical Benevolence_? It has a lot of the emblems and stuff that he likes. A-and it’s in English, so…bonus.”

“Plus,” Anya added, jumping to her feet. “It’s getting very stuffy in here. I want to get Xander home quickly tonight so that we can enjoy at least two sessions of copulation before we break our fast tomorrow with a man named Rory.”

Willow turned to Xander with a frown. “Your uncle’s coming into town?”

“Yeah. Evidently, he’s skipping on the fam-shindig this year and decided instead to grace us with his presence—his uninvited presence, I might add—the day before we leave. Really, all he wants is an excuse to go get chummy with my dad with some very Irish eggnogs.” Xander’s face contorted into something resembling a smile. “Tis the season of obnoxious relatives.” He turned swiftly back to Buffy and nodded. “I guess we’re going on a supply run. You coming along?”

Buffy arched an eyebrow and took another good look at their surroundings. “Uhhh…no? No, I think I’m gonna stay here. You know…straighten up and watch Christmas specials. But I do want to have it at least looking like a chest before you guys hit it tonight.”

“I’ve been known to work a miracle or two in my time.”

Willow shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a spell that—”

“No!” Spells equal bad. Lather, rinse, repeat.  _Ignore the hurt look on best friend’s face._  “No…I just…not with Giles gone. You know if something goes all kablammy, he’s the only one—”

“Yeah, yeah. Logic abounds.” Though Willow didn’t look much of a fan of logic, unless scowling at logic was now her thing. She rose to her feet and slid into her jacket. “Besides, it’d kinda defeat the purpose of our making something from scratch.”

Buffy offered an enthusiastic nod. “Most definitely.”

“You sure you don’t wanna come, Buff?” Xander asked again, helping Anya into her jacket. “A little Home Depot fun? Hey—maybe get some innovative slayage ideas, yes? I bet you could take the demon world by storm with a power saw.”

Yeah. That was just what she needed. Buffy shook her head. “Nah. Go. Away with you.”

“I—”

Anya rolled her eyes and tugged on Xander’s arm. “Come on. She doesn’t want to go. You’re wasting valuable orgasm time. Move it!”

There was a pause. Xander turned bright red, sputtered something that sounded like, “Kafffacknug,” and all but bolted out the door.

Willow licked her lips. “Here’s an idea,” she said once she and Buffy were alone. “He should take Anya to Oregon…then leave her there.”

Buffy stifled a grin as she moved into the kitchen to raid the fridge. Giles had been thoughtful enough to stock it full of every possible type of food that she would ever want. “Now, now, Wills,” she replied. “’Tis the season. Peace on earth, goodwill toward men.”

“She’s not a man.”

“Yeah, but I think former demons count in the receiving of goodwill department.”

“Yeah, yeah. You and your Protestantism. You want me to bring you back anything?”

“Nah. Well, the not-severed head of Anya would be a plus.”

“Damn. There goes that idea. We’ll be back soon!”

Then she was gone. And Buffy was left alone in a house that almost reeked of teenage devastation.

Well, almost alone.

_“SLAYER!”_

Not even two seconds. A new record.

“Here’s the funny thing,” Buffy retorted, moving about the kitchen cheerfully. “I hear you yelling, and yet feel compelled to do absolutely nothing about it.”

There was a muffled groan. “Come on, Slayer! Have a bloody heart. My legs are crampin’ and it smells to high sodding heaven in here.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the mess that was the living room. Chances of getting this under control before the others returned notwithstanding, she didn’t particularly think that allowing the vampire free reign would help, especially considering his penchant for knocking valuables off the shelves.

Even if his company would be an improvement on the bitching-about-holidays Xander and his orgasm-obsessed girlfriend, or Willow and her…spellness. Bad spells that made good girls think bad things about bad, bad men. Err, vampires.

“You can use a hand, Slayer. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve done to the place. Harris can’t move a sodding foot without breaking something and the old man’s gonna be none too pleased when he gets home.”

“You’re one to talk!”

“Difference being I do it on purpose. Can pick a place up right nice like if I fancy. Let me outta here and we’ll have it lookin’ spic and bloody span in no time.”

“Or you’ll just destroy the place more and make for the door.”

“Yeah, and go where? Do what? ‘S not like I got a better option here. What’s that ole sayin’, love?”

“If you’re about to say something gross, I swear, you’re not coming out of there at all tonight.”

Right. Because now he  _would_  say something gross, and she would blush and her voice would go higher than usual, and even though walls separated them, he would likely smell his affect on her.

_Dammit._

“Is that the way we’re playin’ it?” Spike all but purred—purred as in being a cat, as in  _asshole_ —a moment later. “You wanna keep me chained up all night? Gotta say, as vanilla as you are, that’s almost kinky, that is. Didn’t figure you to fancy kink in your life.”

Well, that wasn’t as much gross as explicit, but it resulted in the same fashion.

“I have kink, Mister,” she replied, determined not to be sidetracked. Though that might not have been the best way to respond if her objective was to get her mind  _off_ sex. “Nothing you’ll ever get to see.”

“A pity, that is.” Another impatient rattle. “Come on, Slayer! Lemme out!”

“Ummm…no.”

“What’s a little hospitality between sworn enemies?”

“Something that’s off the table.” Buffy turned to locate one of the larger boxes that had at one time contained an assortment of power tools and the like. “I really don’t want to have to deal with you tonight.”

“Tough. I’m here. Deal with it.”

“Do you want to be gagged?”

“Yeah. Like that, wouldn’t you? Slayer’s pulling out all the stops t’night.”

There was a lazy seduction added to his tone that made her cheeks flush and her aggravation rise. He knew it now. Undoubtedly. He knew it and he was deliberately rubbing it in her face.

As if she was the only one that had been affected by that spell.

“You’re a pig.”

“How stunningly original. Look, Slayer, if you lemme out now, I can help you and your mates build whatever you’re buildin’ for Rupert. Right? Made a dozen things for Dru over the years. And it’s not like I have anythin’ better to do.”

Buffy paused. Did he really have to mention Dru? She wasn’t over her crush yet.

But that was totally beside the point.

“Yeah. The likelihood of my letting you out being so great as is, the likelihood of you actually doing something to help me is just that much more…” She frowned at the lack of a better word. “Unlikely.”

“Tell me, could  _you_ even follow that jumble you just said?”

“Shut up. I will not be fooled into letting you out so you can destroy what we have managed to accomplish under the guise of  _helping out_.”

At that, Buffy could practically hear his frown.

“Oi! I might be evil, but I do keep my word. Like I said, if you’d stop to listen for a bleedin’ second, I have nothin’ better to do.” There was another break for reaction, and when she gave none, an aggravated sigh tackled the air. “You know, those commando blokes could take a chapter outta your book under cruel and unusual punishment.”

That was a bit much, but it did get the point across. And served to remind her that she was in the mood for some company of the non-Scooby persuasion. She shook her head, pushed the supplies aside and padded down the hallway.

The air filled with anticipation; she knew he was waiting for her to snap at him so that he could launch fully into his rebuttal. A wry grin tickled her lips. Spike was nothing if not a source of entertainment. Regardless of everything else, he certainly kept her on her toes.

And her decision to do as he asked was totally worth the look on his face when she pushed the door open.

“And you’re going to behave yourself?” she asked, delving her hand into her left front pocket to fish out the key.

Spike stared at her for a moment, gaping, then nodded urgently. “Be a bloody saint,” he agreed.

She snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

His eyes sparkled with annoyance but it didn’t matter the next second, for she had tossed him the coveted piece of bronze and turned to leave on the same beat. “The others will be back soon,” she said over her shoulder. “Xander wants to get the lid on and I think Will’s gonna start the engravings. We’re sanding everything tomorrow.”

“Right. Put the vamp near the dangerous blocks of wood. That sounds like a jolly good plan.”

Buffy scowled and whirled around. “Hey! You said you’d help! No weaseling out. Weasels get tub time. Okay?”

“I’m not weaselin’ out!”

“There’s a definite weasel factor here.”

“Oh, that’s sodding it.” It seemed she’d reached his  _sodding it_  limit in record time. The next thing she knew, Spike had made a grab for her hand. She slapped at him, her palm landing on the back of his hand, shooting a jolt of pure not-hate through her unsuspecting body.

It was the first time they’d touched like this—at all—since the spell.

“No. Touching,” she barked, very mindful of the fact that she was holding onto him now and not the other way around.

A condescending leer touched Spike’s mouth and he glanced pointedly between them. “You’re the one who can’t keep her hands to herself, pet.”

Buffy scowled and moved to shove him away from her. A good shove. The ‘I’d- rather-be-handling-a-scalding-pot-of-boiling-water-than-be-anywhere-near-you’ kind of shove.

Except that wasn’t what happened. Her fingers flexed and her hand moved, but his moved along with hers.

Buffy felt her eyes go wide. She looked up and met his panicked gaze.

Then they were yanking in earnest. Pulling one way, pushing another. A tug of war between Spike’s left arm and Buffy’s right. They heaved and jerked and wrenched every which direction, but it was to no avail. Her hand rested calmly atop Spike’s, their skin fused together.

“What the bleeding hell did you do?” Spike snarled.

“Me? I’m not the one who was all with the grabby!”

“Yeah.” He held up his hand, demonstrating where hers was attached to the back of his. “Proof’s in the pudding, wouldn’t you say?”

The room was spinning. Buffy felt a headache coming on. “God, it must’ve been the glue.”

“You think?” He stared at her for a minute, then quieted and glanced down. “What glue?”

“Xander brought over some industrial strength glue for the thing. The…chest or whatever. I must’ve gotten some on me when I was cleaning up.” She frowned and dropped her eyes at their linked hands. “Oh my god.”

“Bugger. Do you have any idea what a bitch of a problem that stuff is to get out?”

Buffy looked up at him in a panic. “What? What are you saying?”

Spike shrugged. “Well, for starters, unless you have a solvent on hand, we’re bloody well stuck like this.”

If she thought her eyes couldn’t get any bigger, her headache any louder, she was wrong. “What?”

“Just until we can get some, that is. Calm down.”

“Calm down?  _Calm down?_  I’m glued to you and you’re asking me to  _calm down_?!” Buffy was seconds away from hysterical laughter or sobs of frustration. “Oh god. Oh god. How…” She frowned and started hitting him with her free hand. “This is your fault!”

Spike growled lightly and caught her by the wrist. “Would you stop it?” he snarled. “This isn’t helpin’ anything, all right? All we gotta do is ring the number on the glue and they’ll send us a solvent or tell us where we can get one. Savvy?”

Buffy’s vision had blurred. Had she worked herself up to tears already? The irritated and—offended?—look on Spike’s face betrayed the answer before she even felt the wetness trickle down her throat.

“The number on the glue?” she asked weakly.

“Yeah.” He nodded and slowly released his grip on her wrist, and she heaved a sigh of relief when they didn’t stick there as well. “They’ll have a number on the pack, love. Somethin’ reserved for this sorta situation. Come on. Dry your tears and we’ll figure this out. All right?”

Buffy nodded and turned to the sink, feeling idle and foolish. She washed her face awkwardly with Spike standing directly beside her, her left hand working to make up for a job it was not accustomed to manning on its own. Trembles wracked her body. And amazingly, Spike didn’t say a word about it. Didn’t call her weak or sensitive or anything she would have expected. Instead, he handed her a towel when she was through and followed her as she made her way back to the living room to find the glue.

It was maddening how painfully aware of him Buffy was all of a sudden. More so than before—something she had thought impossible. But she felt every move in his body as though it were her own. The shift of his skin against hers, the cadence of the few breaths he took, the sensation of his eyes on her face as she scoured the glue bottle for the number.

Then he held out his other hand and took the bottle from her, led her calmly to the kitchen—and Giles’s phone—as though knowing she was too frazzled to deal with it at the moment.

They hunched over the counter as he made the call. Buffy nibbled on her lip and did her best not to stare at their glued hands. His larger, pale one resting under her small, slightly less pale one. If this were any other guy, the scene might actually look romantic. A calm, reassuring touch between lovers.

His fingers were long. He knew how to use them too.

Except she wasn’t thinking about that.  _Would not._

God, the Scoobies were going to flip.

Buffy must have spaced completely, for the next thing she knew, Spike had slammed the phone onto the receiver with an angry huff and jerked her back to the living room. He seemed to forget she was there at all until she crashed into his side and nearly cost him his balance.

Spike straightened, murmured an apology, then flopped down onto the sofa—bringing her with him.

“Would you stop dragging me around like a doll?” The words hadn’t meant to come out as harsh as they did—she wasn’t particularly eager for Compassionate Spike to take a bow and leave the stage—but the damage was done.

“Oh, I dunno. Could you not shrill into my ear while sittin’ two bloody inches away?” He glanced in disgust at the source of their predicament. “This is absolute bollocks.”

“What?”

“What? What do you mean,  _what_? Didn’t you hear any of what I just told you?”

No. She had been busy spacing then.

Regardless, Spike plowed right ahead. “The bloke on the phone said they’re waitin’ for a new shipment of the solvent to come in. Too bloody busy right now—bein’ so close to the big holiday. And, to make everythin’ worse, they have to mail it into Sunnyhell from LA.”

That panicky feeling was coming back with a vengeance. “What? They’re…what?”

“Three to four days, best guess.”

“So…you’re saying…”

“We’re stuck. Like this. For days.” He grinned and there was no humor behind it. “Happy fucking Christmas.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was late when the Scoobies left.

The reaction had been fairly predictable. Xander had freaked and blamed Spike. Anya had shrugged and asked if the new situation meant that she and Xander could leave. Willow had started rummaging through her list of spells for one that might work in place of solvent. No such luck. Ultimately, as the evening drew on and solutions didn’t manifest, all three had taken their leave with promises to resume the hunt for desticking the Slayer from her mortal enemy in the morning.

Now it was just Buffy and Spike. Alone and facing the awkward, potentially catastrophic discussion involving sleeping arrangements. Up until that evening, Buffy had taken the bed after chaining Spike in the tub.

That was not going to fly tonight.

“Okay, here’s how it’s going to work.” Buffy bit her lip in thought. “I’ll sleep with my hand dangled over the side of the bed?”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “What if I roll over? You come tumblin’ outta bed, and then blame me for bein’ asleep while sleeping. Don’t think so, love.”

“I wouldn’t blame you for—”

“Think about it.”

She did. She did and he was right. Rats. “Well, do you have any suggestions other than the one you’re not going to suggest because you know how utterly dusty you would become as a result?”

Spike heaved a sigh and threw his hands up in the air; something that wasn’t quite as effective as it could have been since hers followed. “What do you want from me, Slayer? It’s not like I bloody planned this.”

“And how do I know that?”

He gave her a look. She pouted but conceded the point without a word.

“Okay,” she said after a minute, voice conspiratorially low as though someone might overhear. “Say I…say we do…sleep in the same bed. Me under covers, you above. And if there’s any hanky-panky—”

Spike barked an incredulous laugh at that. “Well, well,” he drawled. “Someone seems to think a pretty lot about herself.”

“I’m just saying. You in bed, me in bed, hands glued together. How should I know how your sick mind works?”

“Well, you seem to be havin’ fun guessing.”

“I—”

“I’m not gonna touch you, all right? Other than this.” He shook their glued hands in front of her face. “We sleep on opposite ends of the bed, hands in the middle. That permissible, your highness, or should I start buildin’ a moat?”

Buffy glanced down. “Yeah. It’s fine. But you’re above the covers.”

“What’s it matter?”

“I want you above the covers. It’s not like you feel the cold, anyway.”

“True, but a man does like havin’ something soft against him.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Whatsa matter, love? Afraid you’ll succumb to temptation and wake up with the sudden impulse to shag me silly?”

“As if!”

“Ooohh, valley girl now, are we?”

“I am this close to just sawing your hand off.”

“Frightenin’. Really, it is.” Spike’s eyes twinkled. “Seems I hit a sore spot.”

“Get over yourself.”

“That’s it, innit? You can’t trust yourself with my hot, tight little body walkin’ around like eye candy for the starving sorority girl. Well, gotta tell you…” He must have really been confident, for he leaned in very close, eyes level with hers. Staring her down. “You wake up hankerin’ to part those dimpled knees of yours, you just give yours truly a tug, right?”

Temper shooting through the freaking roof, Buffy released a sound between a scream and a growl and backhanded him hard with her free arm. With disastrous results, considering her punch caused her to sail across the room right along with him. Spike crashed against the wall and she crashed against Spike, and it would have been funny had it been anyone else. But it wasn’t anyone else, therefore it was _not funny._

“Ow.”

Spike winced and sat up, shifting his left arm. “Always told you that you pack quite a punch.”

Her sentiment still seemed the best. “Ow.”

“Yeah. Smarts like a bitch. Maybe you won’t do that anymore.” Spike rose to his feet with a slight wobble and shook his head. “Right. So…you sleeping in what you’re wearin’?”

Was he asking her if she was going to strip?

“What?”

“You have PJs to climb into or what all?”

“I’m not getting naked in front of you!”

A slow smirk crossed his face. “Now, that’s not what I asked, is it?”

Buffy flushed and her scowl deepened. “You’re asking me about my clothes—how the hell am I supposed to take it?”

Spike shrugged. “Right. Don’t care, either way. I was just offerin’ to lend you a hand if you needed it.”

“Oh yeah. You’re here to be helpful.”

He heaved an aggravated sigh. “Really, Summers, you’ve got to do somethin’ about that ego. What? Do you walk around thinking of the various ways different men are tryin’ to shag you? Your dance card’s doesn’t have the marks to match, from what I can tell. So back the bloody hell off.”

Another low blow to her sex life. Buffy took the salt and flinched but refused to let it burn her too deeply. It was, after all, Spike. Whatever he said now was minimal compared to the verbal abuse she had sustained after the Parker ordeal. “I’m not taking anything off.”

“Pity.” The word was short and cold. “Get under the covers, then. And don’t try to sneak a peek while I’m takin’ off my trousers.”

For the millionth time tonight, her eyes went wide. “What?!”

Spike blinked at her slowly, then grinned. “I can’t bloody well sleep with my maypole confined, now can I? Man needs a little comfort room.”

“No.”

“Usually sleep without a stitch. Makin’ a special exception.”

“Spike, I swear to god…”

“But if Rupert left some boxers I can—”

“No. No. Stop.” Buffy yanked on the hand glued to his to get his attention. “No. Jeans stay on. Clothes stay on. Okay?”

The amusement on his face faded. Spike rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m evil, not desperate.”

There it was again. That wicked tongue of his. Damn, she would _not_ cry in front of him.

He was quiet for a moment, and something that might have been regret flashed across his face. It was gone before she could get a read on it, though. He sighed, his shoulders dropping.

“There’s absolutely no way I can get out of this conversation, is there?” he asked.

That was better. Buffy gave herself a mental shake. “Lie down. Shut up. Leave me alone.”

“Buffy, I…”

She reeled her head at the sound of her given name upon those lips and she stared at him for a long, cold moment. Whatever he’d been about to say, she didn’t know. He seemed to give up and she was right behind him. Instead, she climbed on top of Giles’s bed and situated herself under the blankets, her right hand stretched across the mattress. Spike had no choice but to follow. After an awkward moment, he fell still beside her, atop the covers as she had requested.

The quiet that settled between them reached heretofore unexplored levels of awkward.

“Buffy?”

She hesitated for a moment, so unaccustomed to hearing him say her name. “Yeah?”

“’Night.”

A pause. She should snap at him. Ignore him. Tell him he was gross. Something.

But for some reason, she didn’t. Instead, she replied with a soft, “Goodnight, Spike.”

*~*~*

It really wasn’t possible to get comfortable under the covers while wearing jeans in southern California.

Buffy groaned and shifted position for the twenty-third time in a half hour. Beside her, Spike slept like the dead, taking an occasional breath and murmuring something unintelligible every now and then. But he looked all comfy. Like he belonged on the set of a mattress commercial after the right mattress had been selected.

All too typical.

Didn’t make any difference either way. She wasn’t in the position to do anything about it.

Another twenty minutes past and she gave up. This was pointless. If she couldn’t sleep, it didn’t really matter what she was wearing. She would be the walking dead tomorrow, and that was the vampire’s job. With a defiant sigh, Buffy threw the blankets off and turned her left hand to the clasp on her jeans. It took some fancy maneuvering, but she was free in seconds and feeling better already.

Shimmying her pants down her legs? Different story. At least not without making her movements overtly obvious and disturbing her bedmate. A sigh of concession hissed through her lips, and with a cautious glance in the vampire’s direction, she lifted her right arm and lowered it awkwardly to her waist.

Which put Spike’s hand in direct contact with flesh of Buffy.

First contact surprised her. Spike’s hand felt… _good_. Cool but not cold. Fingers close to places not unfamiliar to him but also… Well, would be unfamiliar had a certain spell not happened. And for a moment, a teeny tiny moment, she could imagine this was anything other than what it was.

Small shivers tickled her skin. Her feelings separating common sense with hidden, naughty little cravings. It would have been better had his hand been glued atop hers. At least there would have been an additional barrier between his fingers at the present and her pelvis.

Buffy found that having her dominant appendage handicapped was a big pain in the ass. Her fingers couldn’t maneuver to any degree of success around the intrusion of the vampire’s hand, and if she was too forceful, she feared jarring him awake and then facing the impossible scenario of explaining herself or quite possibly simply dropping dead of pure mortification.

Only now one of those gaudy rings that he couldn’t seem to part with had managed to catch itself on her zipper.

A shrill gasp clawed at her throat. Buffy felt her heart give a horrible lurch, her skin heating in all the wrong ways and _oh my god_ this was worse than dying of discomfort. Discomfort over humiliation always. Now Spike would wake up with his hand caught in her pants—literally—and the jags and barbs he had tormented her with all night would go from annoying to downright painful. To add insult to injury, she actually still had crush-like feelings for the jerk.

She was never going to live this down.

“Oh, for sodding…”

Spike sat up abruptly and Buffy shrank back in embarrassment, avoiding his eyes and preparing herself for the worst.

It never came. Instead, Spike moved over her and hooked his thumbs under the belt loops of her jeans, glanced at her face once, then yanked the denim down her legs and off. Just as quickly, he dismounted her and the mattress to her right moaned with the reapplication of weight.

She waited long minutes for him to start in on her bizarre fixation. For him to ridicule her for hypocrisy. For him to say anything. To jar, to poke, to barb, to belittle. To be Spike.

But it never came. And soon she felt her eyes grow heavy and the room around her faded.

*~*~*

Buffy did not want to wake up. She was too damn comfortable.

And in bed. With a guy. Who apparently hadn’t decided that last night was the worst sex he’d had and bolted for the nearest exit. Which was nice, except she couldn’t remember the guy. Or the sex. Except it must have been good because, hey, this one made it to morning.

Her arms, however, were doing weird things. The right one was at a particularly awkward angle, the other one strewn across the chest of the faceless man who lay beneath her. The feel was different but spectacular. Except for the discomfort in her right arm. She must have twisted into some pretzel-like shape to get like this.

Other things fought through the sleepy fog clouding her mind. The guy was stroking her back, and she had all but straddled one of his muscular thighs, the apex of her sex pressed against cool denim. Apparently, her new lover wore jeans to bed.

It didn’t occur to her until five minutes or so had passed that her right hand, apart from being in a weird place, flat out refused to move.

Then she popped her eyes open, instantly awake.

And holy god, she was cuddling with Spike.

Spike, who was still asleep—or mostly asleep. And hard, she realized, her gaze going to his crotch. Because that was no ordinary bulge, friends. That was an erection. As in his penis.

_Oh god. Spike has a penis._

Well, she knew that. Obviously. She’d sat on it quite a bit during the Will Be Done hassle. Sat on it, wiggled on it, grinned and stroked him through his jeans before Xander and Anya had arrived. Why not? Giles had been blind and Spike had been _so hard_ and she…

Had managed to forget—or rather ignore—in the time since coming back to herself that Spike had a penis.

Heat flooded her cheeks at that, timed perfectly with the sudden racing of her heart. She didn’t know what, but something about the vampire stripped her bare. Crept and chipped at the impenetrable wall left behind by another vampire who had broken her heart.

Which was dumb, because Spike couldn’t love her.

Of course, love wasn’t a discussion she was about to have. It was a crush and that was that. A crush left over from some stupid spell. If she knew what was good for her, she would forget the Will Be Done spell had ever taken place, find Riley as soon as the solvent arrived, smile sweetly, and become the epitome of the perfect girlfriend.

Except with the random slayage, of course.

There weren’t any other options. No matter how much she wanted to—and yes, she could admit that. Now, staring at the evidence that Spike definitely had boy parts and remembering just how awesome those boy parts had felt against her. It would be so easy if she wanted to. If she gave herself permission.

Granted, Spike was asleep. Though he was touchy-feely and sporting major wood, he likely wouldn’t be in the best mood when he awoke and found he’d snuggled with the enemy. Even if the enemy had, say, unzipped his jeans and was stroking that cock of his. Or moving her way down his body to give him a Christmas present she’d never given anyone.

Buffy caught herself at that and almost recoiled in horror. Oh god, he was right. Everything he’d said the night before— _she_ was the horndog. _She_ was the one who couldn’t stop with the crude thoughts. Maybe part of her had assumed he felt the same because her mind lived in the gutter where he was concerned, but he didn’t and he _shouldn’t_ and that was what she had to remember. He would likely be disgusted if he had any idea what inappropriate scenarios her mind had entertained as of late.

Spike hated her. Always had, always would. There was nothing more to it.

And it was just as well. Because it was a crush. A stupid, idiotic, I-can’t-believe-you’re-going-there-again crush. A crush sparked by a spell and fueled by adhesive. Once they were separate again, Buffy wouldn’t be surprised if he left town just to wash away all hint of her from his system.

That didn’t explain why she was curled in his arms, though. Or why his dick was hard.

Well, the last thing wasn’t so much a mystery. He was asleep. He was a vampire. He was male. And he was probably dreaming of Dru.

An ironic, humorless grin tickled her lips. She truly _was_ living with the shadow of Drusilla over her head.

And _oh my god_ Spike was waking up.

Buffy’s eyes went wide and her body clamped down. Spike yawned, stretched without opening his eyes, and released what had to be the most sensuous purr she had ever heard.

Vampires purred? Spike purred?

Holy hell, he _was_ a cat!

It was definitely time to roll away. With a frown, Buffy cautiously lifted her weight off him and made to resume the position she last remembered—a good four feet of distance between them. She didn’t get far before Spike snapped his eyes open and seized her arm with his free hand.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

She blinked at him dumbly.

He smirked before letting his eyes to travel the length of her. “I was just gettin’ comfy.”

Buffy licked her lips. Her leg had inched away from his—and therein his penis—and she tactfully opted to not look in the direction of either. Right now, her gaze was caught on his. It was strange seeing him so up close without the safety of a fight to act as a buffer. True, the spell had made them get all kinds of up close and personal, but there was no spell now. Just them.

“Getting up,” she replied shortly. “Using the…” She froze. Oh god. Her eyes met his again. Oh god. “Oh god.”

It didn’t take much for Spike to discern her sudden panic. “You need to use the loo, don’t you?”

She nodded miserably. “Human. Kinda happens.”

And amazingly it hadn’t happened last night after the great gluing incident. It was like her body had triggered its emergency power source.

“Right.” He furrowed his brow, and she was oddly touched that he seemed embarrassed for her. Even if it was a charade, it was sweet of him to pretend.

_Spike? Sweet? Oh god, we need the solvent. Now._

“Here.” Spike slowly sat up, bringing her with him. “I’ll stand in the tub with the curtain drawn. All right?”

“But you’ll—”

“Sweetheart, we might have to get used to not bein’ modest around each other.” He stopped, frowned, shook his head, and revised. “ _You_ might have to get used to not bein’ modest around _me_ for the next few days. Got it? We have no bloody idea how long we’ll be like this. Might take Rupert to—”

“Oh my god.”

“Well, come on if you need to go that badly.”

“No. No, that’s not it.” Buffy inhaled deeply. “I just remembered something.”

A few seconds of silence. “Have at it, love. Don’t leave me in suspense.”

“Tonight was the Bronze Christmas party. Ugh, this blows!”

He looked at her as though she had lobsters crawling out of her ears. Not helping.

“Would you stop?” she demanded.

Spike blinked, then set his face with expected resolve. “What’s your problem, Summers?”

“I have no problem!” Yeah. Okay. So, lying now. Buffy slumped her shoulders and blew out a deep sigh. “I just really wanted to go to the party. Since my mom’s out of town for Christmas, it was really the one holiday-centered thing that I had going for me this year. Other than the ritual exchange of presents and all. I was just—”

“So let’s go.”

Now she was doing the lobster-staring thing. “What?”

Spike shrugged. “We’ll go. Don’t rightly see why this’d effect your going to a bloody party. If anything, you’re guaranteed your date won’t run off on you.” He held up their joint hands demonstrably. Then caught the look on her face, which must have been a doozy. “Just tonight, for god’s sakes. We’ll play your mates for fools. It’s not like there’s another option here.”

“Did you just say _date_ in reference to us?”

“Do I look like I’m proud of it?”

No. No, he didn’t. Buffy fought the urge to scream her frustration. Oh well. At least he had used the d-word before anyone else.

Before she did.

He looked seconds away from revoking the offer when she finally managed to summon a smile that was neither humorless nor cynical. Despite all else, Spike had been a wonderful sport. With what had happened last night, even including their spat, he had done everything possible to make her comfortable. Something she would have never thought him capable of.

“Thanks,” Buffy replied earnestly, her heart warming when he smiled back. “I really appreciate it.”

And then something amazing happened. Spike became shy.

 _Spike_ became _shy_. He glanced down, muttered a few unintelligible things, offered a nervous laugh, met her eyes again and sealed it with a nod.

It was then that Buffy realized her jeans were curled on the floor and that she was sitting on the bed, under the blankets with her archenemy while wearing nothing but yesterday’s shirt and panties. Spike’s shirt had gone missing sometime in the night as well, though it hadn’t gone far, seeing as he couldn’t fully remove his arm from the sleeve. And when he had invited himself under the covers, she did not know. But here he was. Here _they_ were. And it felt as natural as anything else.

_Oh god._

Which took her back to where she had started.

“Oh god.”

That was all it took for Spike’s sweet look to morph into annoyance. “Now what?”

“Bathroom?”

The fire in his eyes died just as easily and he offered a small grin. “Oh, right.”

It was strange seeing him like this. His face came to life when he smiled. She remembered thinking that when they were under the spell. Spike so rarely smiled around her—well, he _never_ smiled around her, but she loved seeing it. He had a gorgeous smile.

At that, she frowned. Bad Buffy.

It wasn’t as though anything would come of it. These thoughts couldn’t go anywhere and would do little more than keep her from getting over the stupid crush in a healthy manner.

But the thoughts didn’t go away. If anything, they intensified as the morning progressed. True to his word, Spike stood in the bathtub with the curtain drawn and even hummed to give her the illusion of privacy as she emptied her bladder. He then helped her wash her hands and tossed her a towel without so much as a snide remark.

Then he’d pulled her into the kitchen and started rummaging for breakfast. Once she was equipped with a bowl of Frosted Flakes—and he with a bowl of blood-covered Frosted Flakes, which she chose to ignore—he’d moved wordlessly into the living room.

“Giles doesn’t like us eating in here.”

“Call that the Harris ordinance, I’d wager,” he said, then stuffed a spoonful of blood-covered cereal into his mouth. “Not exactly a polite houseguest, am I? Besides, the telly’s in here. Wanna catch Rudolf?”

“Rudolf?” Buffy echoed, sitting when Spike sat because options were not exactly aplenty.

“You know…wanker deer with a shiny nose?” He flicked on the television, then leaned back. “The guide said it’d be on today.”

“You…watch stuff like that?”

“’Course I do. It’s bloody Rudolf.” He threw her a grin—a bloody grin, thanks to his breakfast, but not an unattractive one.

Which meant this thing was already way out of hand.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“This close to Christmas, all the stations’ll have their sodding specials running. That doesn’t get you in the spirit, nothing will.”

“And…you _really_ watch this stuff.”

Spike smacked his lips together. “Never miss it. Not if I can help it.”

“You’re a strange guy, Spike.”

He looked at her, arched a brow. “Slayer, you don’t know the half of it.”

No, she really didn’t.

But god help her, she wanted to.


	3. Chapter 3

The staff at the Bronze had oh-so-cleverly decided to go with Holiday in the Movies as the party theme and had pieced together a playlist based on various songs from various Christmas movies and musicals. While the premise itself was lame, the musical compositions the staff had chosen were pretty awesome.

The place was kicking as Buffy had expected. The entire town had shown up.

Getting ready for the party had been an interesting venture. Buffy had been possessed with a need to look festive, and despite Spike’s groans, he’d gone along with it. However, their situation being what it was, achieving the holiday look had been something of a challenge. It had taken the help of Willow and a very hurried Xander and Anya to get either of them looking presentable for the party.

Not that Xander had been in favor of the dance idea, but he had no argument to offer as Buffy and Spike were, in every sense of the word, stuck together. And perhaps it wasn’t as much the dance itself that drove her friend up the wall, but the fact that he was the only male of the bunch and had thus been elected to help Spike with his pants.

_Help_ was perhaps overstating it a bit. He’d stood and watched—albeit not closely—as Spike dressed, issued an abrupt nod when the vamp finished and had left the room in a hurry.

It was a different story for Buffy. After discovering the only way to remove her top was to tear it off, Willow had searched frantically for a spell that would help Buffy dress without sacrificing her wardrobe.

“Warlocks do this all the time,” Willow had said. “Magicking clothes onto themselves and such. Really. This spell? Piece of cake.”

Buffy found herself squeezing Spike’s hand—best she could, at least—for reassurance, not realizing she had done so until she felt his fingers curl around hers to return the favor. They had been seated rather inelegantly on top of Giles’s kitchen table, backs pressed against each other’s so that nothing inappropriate was seen. As strange as it was, spending the day with Spike—unable to physically do anything but—had made Buffy feel protective of him. Closer to him. As though of everyone in the room, he was the one she could trust.

Which was dumb, granted, but how she felt nonetheless.

In the end, it had only taken three tries with Willow’s spell to get the outfit on properly. And Buffy had no complaints. Her Bronze-wear consisted of black velvet pants paired with a red Santa-themed top. The top itself had three-quarter-length sleeves; white rabbit fur lined the collar. It was stylish and fun and she loved it, regardless of the snappy comment Spike had made.

“Look like a sodding Santa groupie. Someone got a fetish, Summers?”

But his eyes had been twinkling, and seemingly unable to stop from landing in the vicinity of her breasts, which, Buffy had to admit, looked all kinds of awesome against this fabric.

Willow had located one of Giles’s old shirts for Spike, which he had complained about loudly until he’d gotten a glimpse of it. The fashion was so old it was on the brink of coming back in style. It was red, which he’d liked, and festive, which Buffy liked. And he had black slacks on to boot. Spike had insisted on wearing his black tee underneath, and Buffy had agreed if only so they didn’t look like they had deliberately coordinated their clothing.

But damn, he looked hot. Even Willow had given him a lingering look.

Now, they had been at the party now for almost two hours. And despite the weirdness of being there with Spike, Buffy was having an amazing time. So amazing that she nearly didn’t recognize Riley when he approached.

“Buffy, hey!” her would-be boyfriend said, beaming that mega-watt smile that should have her heart doing flip-flops. “Can I…” He shifted his gaze to Spike, and the smile faded into a scowl. He stared at him for a long moment before giving his head a shake and looking back to Buffy. “You want to dance?”

“Ummm…” Buffy smiled nervously. Honestly, he was the last person she’d expected to see tonight. And quite frankly, she had been better off for it. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Riley; she did. Kind of. But truth be told, ever since she’d clarified that she wasn’t engaged, she’d felt more and more pressured to pursue a relationship with him. That was something she really, in her heart of hearts, did not want. “Actually, the thing is…umm, Riley. I can’t…” She looked to Spike for help, but he was too busy glowering at Riley to notice.

But Riley noticed and his glare hardened. “Hey, is this guy bothering you?”

At that, Spike released a low, almost possessive growl. “No. She came with me,” he all but snarled. “So back off, brute boy.”

For a moment, Buffy thought Riley might blow, but then he paused and frowned. “Do I know you?”

This was not going anywhere good.

“Listen, Riley…I came with Spike tonight.” Buffy cursed herself when his eyes widened in recognition. _Damn, damn, double damn_. “Yeah…uhhh…remember that thing where we weren’t getting married and it was all a story?”

Spike frowned at her.

Riley heaved a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. “Lemme guess…” he said. “That was the real story because…what? You two had a fight or something?” He shook his head. “Is this what you do? Fight and break up and flirt with guys in between? Was that what Parker was?”

“What? No!”

“Buffy…” Riley looked at her a long moment, then sighed and shook his head. He turned to Spike. “You should know she has been doing stuff behind your back. Pursuing me and then Parker—”

“You got this way wrong,” Buffy snapped, shaking. “There’s nothing behind anyone’s back.”

“So you this is a game the two of you play together then?”

There was a snarl behind her that almost surprised her more than the question had. “That’s enough, mate.” Spike had this feral look about him that both invigorated her and made her nervous. There was every possibility that he was seconds away from doing something stupid. “Think you better apologize to the lady.”

Buffy blinked. Since when was her vampire chivalrous?

And since when was he _her_ vampire?

“Spike…”

“No, love. The wanker’s gonna apologize.” Spike took a step forward, his eyes flashing. “Aren’t you?”

Spike might be shorter than Riley, but the air with which he carried himself screamed raw power and danger. And Buffy saw it—saw that recognition in Riley’s eyes too, for the look that stormed his face was one she’d never before associated with him.

Then he was normal again. Riley. The guy she now had absolutely no future with, but somehow couldn’t work herself up to be as upset about that as she felt she should.

“Sorry,” he said, then coughed. And before she knew it, her would-be boyfriend had dissolved into a sea of partygoers and likely out of her life forever.

Well, except for that one class where he was the TA. No, that wouldn’t be awkward at all.

Oh well.

Buffy knew she should feel something on some level—and she did. A small ounce of regret, of loss, the hum of “Another One Bites The Dust” thrumming through her veins.

Maybe she was just not meant for a normal relationship. After all, her life? Not normal.

Spike was still rigid when she jostled his hand and shook. “Are you okay?”

There was no response.

Buffy frowned. “Spike…”

“The guy’s a git. You can do better than him.”

She blinked and looked at him. “I can? Seems I remember some choice words you had on the subject.”

Spike snorted and shook his head. “You date tossers, love. Bleeding Angel then that wanker who…” His jaw hardened and for a moment, something played across his face that had her again questioning everything she knew or thought she knew about him.

About them.

Could Spike…be jealous? Of Parker?

“Figure Peaches gave you some line about the kinda fella you oughta date after he took off, yeah?” he said a moment later. “Nice normal bloke for a girl who’s anything but.”

Buffy swallowed. “Well, he left because…of the vampire thing. That he was one. And that we can’t...”

But she didn’t want to talk to Spike about her lack of a sex life with Angel. She didn’t want to talk about Angel at all because Spike was very much not Angel. He was the anti-Angel, from build to hair color to soul. He was everything she shouldn’t want—should hate, actually. And she _had_ hated him with a passion up until Willow’s stupid spell. The not-hate she felt now would wear off at some time. It had to.

“What a bloody saint,” Spike said a moment later. “Can’t have you for himself so he tells you to go for the thing you aren’t.”

“Huh?”

“Not built for normal blokes, love,” he murmured. “You’re not normal. Never can be.”

“Thanks,” she deadpanned.

Spike rolled his eyes and tugged her closer. “You’re _remarkable_ , is what you are. Too good for the likes of any rotten pulser here. Too good for Angel too. Git never knew what he had.”

Irritation gone, Buffy found that her throat had gone dry. Really dry. She studied Spike’s face as she never had before, then swallowed. Before she could help herself, the words were in her mouth. On her tongue. Out in the open. “And you?”

Spike just stared at her for a long moment.

Then he kissed her.

Holy god, he _kissed_ her. And the instant his lips touched hers, Buffy was gone. Melted away into some forbidden paradise where nothing in the world mattered except for _this_. Bliss in every sense of the word. A whimper of repressed longing scratched at her throat, and then she had hooked her good arm around his neck and was, leaping into the kiss with everything she had, warring with his tongue, exploring his mouth with her own. Spike growled and hauled her to him with his free arm, pressing her flush against his—oh yeah, there it was. The bulge she had seen that morning was pressed against her belly, lighting her every nerve and sending shocks of pure want to her clit. His taste consumed her: tobacco, whiskey, leather, even the hint of blood. All things she should reject. All things that were driving her wild.

Not much time had passed since they had last shared a kiss like this, but damn. _Damn._ This time it was real this time.

Or as real as it was going to get. When they broke away, panting and leaning into each other, the volume of the music settled around them once more and Buffy found herself overwhelmed with sudden shyness. She didn’t know what had brought that on—didn’t really care—but the knowledge that it had taken so little to free her inhibitions brought reality back with a screeching halt. She still had an arm wrapped around his neck, her brow rubbing his. The hard length of his cock was still pressed against her stomach and she managed to stifle a grin. Managed to stop herself from thrusting her hips against his to let him know just how into this she was. It was too fast. From where she had been the night before to this…it was too fast.

And yet…

And yet _oh god_ not fast enough.

Then the moment was over. Just like that. Over. As though sensing her hesitation, Spike reeled back and caught her gaze. “Mistletoe,” he said, pointing skyward. “I was just…mistletoe. And the blokes over there were just askin’ for an eyeful.”

Buffy blinked at him, wounded. No way had that been a mistletoe kiss. She had endured mistletoe kisses in the past. Never had one set her skin aflame. Never had one made her lose all sense of time and reasoning.

Spike drew her to him again before she could respond. For an instant, she thought he’d kiss her again, but he didn’t. Instead, he twirled her as the next song struck the speakers. The twirl not a simple feat given their joined hands, but he managed to make it look easy.

He managed to make everything look easy. Feel easy.

Like they could ever be easy.

_But maybe you could,_ a voice from deep inside her said, mutinous and foolish but very present all the same. After all, he was right, wasn’t he? She couldn’t have normal. Couldn’t be normal. And maybe she didn’t even want it.

Maybe she wanted to want it, or thought she should. But in the end, what would she change? She’d thought last year that her powers were gone—Giles had given her a glimpse of what life would look like during her eighteenth birthday bash ritual, and she hadn’t liked it.

In fact, she’d hated it. Despite how much easier her life would be, there were certain things a person couldn’t unknow. And returning to her simple life just wasn’t an option. She didn’t want it to be one.

Despite the demands it made of her, despite the weight of the world on her shoulders, Buffy enjoyed who she was as the Slayer.

_Holy shit._

She and Spike were silent for long minutes, swaying to soft, instrumental music she didn’t recognize. It felt awkward and wrong yet perfect and so right at the same time. She didn’t know what to think and god, she didn’t _want_ to. She just wanted to feel. Feel him. Feel _Spike._

Spike chuckled then, the motion making his chest rumble in a way she should not have found sexy but did.

That was Spike in a nutshell. Shouldn’t think he was sexy but did. Shouldn’t want him but did. Shouldn’t make her feel this way but did.

“This song’s appropriate,” he murmured into her ear, setting fire to her nerves.

Buffy swallowed. “Oh?”

“None more so.” He dipped his head closer, the arm around her waist grew more demanding. And then something light touched her ear and _oh holy god_ Spike was singing to her. Singing. To her.

_“The best things happen while you’re dancing. Things that you would not do at home come naturally on the floor. For dancing…”_ He dipped her lightly. _“Soon becomes romancing. When you hold a girl in your arms that you’ve never held before.”_

Buffy inhaled deeply, then whimpered when she felt his lips brush the shell of her ear,

_“Even guys with two left feet come out all right if the girl is sweet. If by chance their cheeks should meet—”_ He pressed his cheek to hers. _“—while dancing, proving that the best things happen while you dance.”_

“That’s…umm…” Buffy pulled back, a shaky breath rattling through her lips. “Not a Christmas song?”

Spike smiled, running his fingers up and down her spine. “Yes it is, love. Well, it’s from a Christmas flick, right? Aren’t those the rules?”

“It’s from a Christmas movie?”

“Irving to boot. Y’know…bloke who composed the most popular Christmas song of all bloody time?” His eyes twinkled. “ _White Christmas_. Musical from the fifties.”

“You know the lyrics to a musical from the fifties?”

“Kitten, I had to go see it on openin’ night. Dru likes people to sing for her.”

A shrug to follow through with her instantaneous fall of spirit. Ah. Right. Drusilla. There was that shadow again.

“We oughta see if it’s on when we get back,” Spike went on. “I always fancied that one. Music and all.”

“Right. You’re into old music.” She made a face. “Well, the Sex Pistols—”

“Are a bloody brilliant band and we’re not goin’ there.” Spike dipped her again without warning. “Just because my taste is superior doesn’t mean it isn’t diverse. Though I expect you only listen to whatever boy band the record company’s promoting at a given time, right? That or Britney bloody Spears.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled. “Huh? Uhh, no.”

“Y’know, you kinda look like that bird.”

“I do not!”

He nodded, a studious look on his face. “Short. On the skinny side. Blonde. Cute. Yeah, pet, you got her look down.”

The room did one of those freezy things where they were briefly the only occupants. “You think I’m cute?”

“What?”

“You said cute.”

He scoffed. “Did not.”

Buffy pouted at his refusal to admit that he’d called her cute, but decided to let it drop. In the long run, all that really mattered was that he _had_ said it. And it wasn’t as though it meant anything, anyway. And what was that, anyway? Cute? She was cute? Puppies were cute. Babies were cute.

He had to be the world’s most aggravating vampire.

“You said the song was appropriate,” she said a minute later. “What did you mean?”

Spike perked an eyebrow. “The best things happen while you’re dancin’?”

She nodded.

He smirked. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, sweets.”

“Noticed what?”

The record had shifted to a subtler “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”.

“Every move we make,” he said, emphasizing by thrusting his pelvis up in time with the beat—so in time that she didn’t know whether or not it was intentional. “Every day. Ever since we met. All we’ve done with each other…is dance.”

He dipped her a third time before she could protest and continued unhampered when she was eye level once more. “There’s different ways to dance, love. Slayers dance with their bodies—all out. No matter what you’re doin’. You think you’re fighting. You think that’s what calls blokes like me. You think it’s your blood—that plays a part, I won’t lie, but there’s something else. A different kind of thirst…just for you. The Slayer. Every move she makes, every little gasp of air…it’s all a part of the dance. Every slayer does it. Taunts us. Torments us. Bloody well begs us to take her.” He stopped, frowned, and thought. “But you, Summers…” In an abrupt move, he twirled her around so that his arms had crisscrossed over her front and her back was pressed to his chest. He made no effort to hide his erection, rather pressed himself against her backside and growled into her ear when she pressed back into him. “You dance with all you’ve got. You dance for the sake of dancing. It’s something else… Something about you that gives the dance a whole new meanin’. And that’s all we’ve ever done, love. All you and I have ever done, at least. Danced around each other until the song changes tunes. Fighting, screaming…and now…”

Buffy’s eyes were threatening to fall shut as she went lax in his embrace. Every word that escaped his lips made her skin tingle. And damn, she wanted nothing more than to lose herself.

“And now, Slayer,” he continued softly, “we’re putting the fight to music. The dance never ends. Not with you.”

She felt his free hand draw hair away from her face, turned to meet his eyes, and found him staring at her with a look she had never seen before. And for long a moment, they were without time.

“It’s your eyes,” he said suddenly.

It was amazing she could find her voice. “What?”

“Your eyes…it’s how you dance. A man could dance forever in your eyes.”

Buffy’s head spun. Realities had suddenly bent to her whim.

_Mistletoe kiss. Yeah. Right._

Somewhere, somehow, she was able to locate her voice.

“And,” she began. “The best things happen while you’re dancing?”

Spike grinned. “ _Only_ while you’re dancing.”

Four simple words. It was funny how four simple words could be the foundation of everything. Could open the gateway to everything. Of course, as was in this case, it was hardly ever just the words—more the thought and feeling that went into them. The knowledge of what they meant. What _he_ meant when he said them. Because this was it.

_Oh god._

How in the world had they gotten here from yesterday?

Buffy pulled back and put as much space between her and Spike as she could. Something dark crossed his face, but he didn’t look surprised. Rather disappointed. And turned on.

_What did this mean?_

The Bronze was suddenly too hot, and she needed to get out. “I’m gonna go kill things,” she decided abruptly and turned sharp on the heel.

Not much for a dramatic exit, seeing as she couldn’t go more than a couple steps without dragging Spike behind her.

“Well,” he mumbled, “guess I’m comin’ along.”

The air stung with the weight of unspoken words. Dangerous words and looks and feelings she shouldn’t feel but couldn’t help.

But she didn’t want to think about that stuff. Not now.

Because if she thought too much, she might do something she regretted.

Or she might regret not doing something.


	4. Chapter 4

A half hour later, Buffy was sitting on the counter in Giles’s bathroom as Spike wetted a washcloth. His left hand sat on her lap, hers still glued to the back of it, but the contact had become so familiar she almost forgot it was forced. As was his nearness. How he felt at home inside her personal bubble. Like this was how it was always supposed to be.

A single day had passed and already this closeness felt normal.

And they still had days to go…

“Come on,” Spike prompted, lifting their joined hands to the hem of her shirt. “I gotta see it if I’m gonna clean it, right?”

“It’s not even that bad,” she said. “Just a scratch.”

Spike snorted. “Don’t mean to be crude, pet—”

“That’s a first.”

“But I can smell how bad it is. Vamp, right? You haven’t stopped bleedin’ yet.”

The determination in his eyes had her beyond confused. Buffy had never seen him look concerned over anything, let alone her. It was strange and made her chest do things it shouldn’t. Well, _more_ things it shouldn’t. But there seemed little point in fighting it. With a sigh and a short nod, Buffy relaxed and spread her legs to allow him to come between them.

Okay, so patrolling while glued to a vampire had been a dumb plan. It hadn’t even really been a plan, more a desperate ditch to get away from the confusing sensations he’d stoked. Not that she could get away—physically or metaphorically. Buffy had never been adept at shutting down her feelings even when doing so might have saved her life—or the lives of others. She emoted big time. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t know if she wanted to.

Dancing with Spike had been dumb too. Going to the party had been dumb. Listening to him—thinking these thoughts and feeling these feelings was beyond dumb.

But remembering why was becoming more and more difficult. Especially with Spike so close. Especially with the _rightness_ of him being so close.

Buffy shuddered a deep breath and took in the serious look on Spike's face as he cleaned the few scrapes she had sustained during the vamp attack on the post-party patrol. The way he touched her was enough to have her insides on fire. And she didn’t know why—why she reacted like that or, more specifically, why in the world Spike gave a damn. Why he was here, cleaning her broken skin and not making crude suggestions or seizing the opportunity to ingest slayer blood.

Any more than she could say why the thought of him licking her blood made her insides tingle in a way that was very much not disgust.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

Spike stilled and looked at her. “What?”

“This.” She motioned between them. “I know we’re…but why do you care? You could’ve let that vamp off me if you’d wanted to.”

“Oh, so now everyone who saves your life has to pass the Buffy Summers loyalty quiz?”

She frowned. “I never—”

“I just did. All right? Can we drop it?”

“No, we can’t drop it. Not only did you save my life, Spike, you also put yours in danger. Have we forgotten the chip?” As if to make doubly sure the chip was not forgotten, Buffy tapped the side of his head. “Granted, yes, knowing that your little handicap doesn’t apply to non-humans is a good thing, but you could’ve… You didn’t know that. And you could’ve—”

“You really think I woulda just stood there and let those vamps take a chunk outta you?”

She stared at him blankly. “Well…yes?”

“You’re off your bird.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means sod all else before I stand aside and watch you get hacked to tiny bits by baby vamps not worthy enough to lick your shoes. God, you really think I could stand for that?” Spike’s blue eyes positively blazed. His nostrils flared and his jaw looked painfully tight. “You think I’d let you be offed by some two-bit act?”

“Yes!” Buffy replied, her pulse thundering in her ears. “You’re Spike, remember? The Slayer of Slayers? Any of that ring a bell? And me. Buffy. Vampire Slayer, the. You’ve only tried to kill me since the day we met and tonight would’ve been your chance. It’s what you want, right?”

“No.”

The answer surprised them both. She saw it in his eyes. The way he blinked and gave his head a shake, and also in the way—the instant—he embraced it. And when he spoke again, his voice had lowered and the fire behind his gaze had softened.

“No, Buffy. I don’t want you dead.”

He was calling her _Buffy_ again.

_Oh god._

“Why?”

“Why? Does a bloke need a reason?”

“It’s you, so yes. Your mission is to kill the Slayer.”

“Changed my mission.” He shrugged. “Don’t know when it happened. Just did. Don’t wanna kill you anymore. Don’t know if I ever did where it mattered. You’ve always been…different.”

“Can I weigh an opinion on that?”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “It ever occur to you, kitten, that I have had experience killing slayers? I know you know it, but do you have any idea what that means? I’ve had chance after chance to kill you…managed to bollocks it up some way or another. Hell, I’ve been invited to your home, for god’s sake. Chance after chance…” He raised his free hand to brush a few unruly locks of hair from her face. “And I never did it. Never went through with it. You’re better than the others, sure. Best I’ve ever seen. But if I wanted to…if I really wanted to…I’d’ve done it by now. I haven’t.”

The words should have disgusted her. Should have revolted her. Should have convinced her to stake him then and there and solve her problem. And, if nothing else, the words _definitely_ should have eradicated any remnants of her stupid crush once and for all.

Of these things, they did none. Rather, what he’d said set her heart pounding so hard she was certain it could be heard through walls. Made her clothes uncomfortable and set her skin aflame. Made her clench her thighs—made her want to throw him against the wall to do all sorts of naughty, inappropriate things to him. Made her want.

“I haven’t…” Buffy looked down, unable to maintain the demand of his gaze. She was afraid she would blurt out something she wasn’t yet prepared to face. “I haven’t killed you, either.”

“Yeah, kinda noticed that one, pet. Any idea why?”

“No. You’re annoying and evil and by all logical accounts, you should be dust.”

“And yet…” He moved closer. Dangerously close. _Oh god oh god_ and no mistletoe to blame it on. “Here I am.” Spike palmed her cheek with his right hand and wiped away some residual dirt from patrol. “Sweetheart, I know what you’re gonna say, but I think you need a bath.”

“I stink?” Talk about a mood killer.

“Didn’t say that, but we could both stand to clean up, I’d wager.”

“You want me to bathe like this?” She held up their joint hands. “Huh?”

“What, you were gonna go four days without a shower?” Spike’s eyes narrowed. “You thought _I’d_ go four days without a shower? Honestly, Slayer.”

She flushed. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, come on then. Hop up.”

“No! No, I’m not…showering with you.” Naked Spike. Wet naked Spike. She wouldn’t be able to control herself. “You’ll have to stand outside the shower while I do it, okay? Quick, painless—”

“With the nozzle pointin’ that way”—he gestured at the tub—“and your right hand glued to yours truly?”

“I am not getting naked with you!”

He scoffed, his face hardening from the sweet resolve she had been treated to all night. “I swear, Summers, you have some ego. Like that’s what’d I’d be thinking about.”

“Well, it’s what _I’d_ be thinking about!”

They froze and gaped at each other. Buffy closed her eyes and wished for the counter to swallow her whole.

When Spike spoke again, his voice was rough. “Slayer…”

“Don’t. Don’t read too much into it or flatter yourself. Y-you just get two people naked, and…wet…and shower…and…you think about it. It happens. Case closed.”

“Buffy.”

She opened her eyes and found him smiling at her. A kind smile. An almost adoring smile. So far off from the smiles she had ever received from him. A smile she had only seen when they had been planning wedding arrangements.

“I lied,” he said.

“What?”

“Hello, guy here. I’d be thinking about it too. Fuck, I’d be thinkin’ about it. How could I think of anythin’ else with…and you’re…” He trailed his eyes down the length of her. “You’re…I’m running the bath for you.”

“I’m not getting in.”

“You’ll get in if I have to throw you in.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah—we’ll take a shower instead.”

Buffy’s heart all but leaped into her throat. “Spike!”

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. “Look. We’re gonna have to do this eventually, right? Might as well get it outta the way.”

He waited for a minute as she debated inwardly and lost every argument her mind could come up with. Ultimately, he was right. Even if they did not do this tonight, there was tomorrow to think about. Tomorrow and the days following. _God._

“Right,” he said, evidently reading the concession in her eyes. “So…I’m startin’ the shower.”

The air around her was suddenly very hot. A stymied burn from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her hair. He turned from her as best he could and flicked the water on—leaving her to her tangled, confused thoughts.

For her part, Buffy stood still, unsure what to do with herself. What, if anything, would suggest too much. They had decided to take a shower together. What exactly did this mean? Was he acting purely on behalf of her aches and pains and their mutual need to not stink, or was he looking for an excuse to get her naked?

It seemed too radical to stop now and ask if this was still a part of the date or if they were back to being two reluctant victims of industrial strength adhesive.

By the time Spike had turned back to her, she had done nothing to disrobe herself and he wasted no time setting the pace for her. He raised his hands to the hem of her shirt wordlessly, sent a cautious glance to her face, then edged the material upward. She knew he could read her nervousness—could feel it rolling off her in waves. With whatever else they had done to this point—spell or no spell, glue or no glue—there was something about the intimacy of nakedness that pushed this to a different level.

Cold air hit her like a bucket of ice. Strange. The air hadn’t felt cold before. Perhaps that was due to the fact that she was standing in the bathroom of Giles’s apartment with a vampire she had too recently hated, wearing nothing waist-up but a skimpy lace bra. Her festive top was currently bunched where their hands were fused together. The room reverberated with the pounding of her heart.

“You’re gonna have to rip it,” she murmured, surprised at how husky her voice sounded. He looked up at her, his eyes shining with something she had never seen before. “Yours too. We’ll have to rip it.”

“Buffy…”

She swallowed, looked away, then back again. So close. When had he gotten so close?

A yank and her top was gone for good. It sailed to the floor as Spike steadied her with his free hand. Then slowly, he skimmed his fingers up her arm and paused at her shoulder, fiddling with the strap of her bra.

He whispered her name again, looked to her face, searching for another something. And she must have granted permission for his fingers were then at the swell of her breast, stroking her lightly through the thin material. A low, throaty moan rumbled through him and echoed in her. Then he raised his other hand to work the front clasp, and her breasts spilled against his palms. Spike inhaled, his thumbs going to her nipples almost immediately, sending small jolts of pure lust to her center.

God, this was really happening. He was really touching her. There was awe masked with hunger in his gaze, and he was touching her.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” he said thickly.

Buffy looked at him numbly, heart throbbing just beneath his caress. As though carrying on a rational conversation while being fondled by a gorgeous vampire was remotely possible. “What?”

“I’m gonna kiss you.” It was not a question. He was going to kiss her. He was staring at her mouth like a man starved. “Just thought I’d let you know.”

This was one moment out of a million, but it would be one to always remember.

Mind hazed, Buffy nodded best she could. “Oh. Okay.”

It was amazing how weightless she felt. Even more amazing that that was the first thought that seized her mind as Spike’s good arm jerked an anchor around her waist as his mouth found hers.

In Buffy’s experience, kisses were simple. Sweet. She had shared kisses with a number of boys—tentative ventures with nameless faces met back at who-knows-where before she left Hemery in ’97. She remembered David Greenbrier had been her first kiss, and that he’d thought there was no such thing as too much tongue. The few that followed before Angel, she didn’t remember. Couldn’t place. They existed where all the forgotten kisses existed.

There were kisses that established foundations and others that halted construction.

Then there were kisses like Spike’s, where all memories of those stolen moments in the past were suddenly made meaningless. Spike’s exploration of her mouth was gentle but hungry. Forceful but yielding. His tongue taking to hers with a softness that counteracted the need behind every stroke. His lips moved against hers in a rhythm she couldn’t help but follow, reminding her of the dance—their dance. His free hand was at her breast still, fingers teasing her nipple, stroking her and filling her with a craving beyond anything in her limited experience. With every sweep his mouth made against hers, every whimper he fed her, he made her feel in seconds more desirable than she had, well, ever.

Where this would make Angel lose his soul, Spike by all accounts seemed to gain one in mindless seconds. The notion was dangerous, she knew, but could not find it within herself to care at that moment. Buffy wound her legs around his waist, bringing his lower body in where she needed it. His cock was now against her sex, and she was grinding into him and nearly weeping with relief when he thrust right back. The sounds rumbling through his throat tugged at every nerve in her body.

She mewled in protest when his mouth finally wrenched away, though her lungs were grateful. They stared at each other, stunned for a few endless seconds. Watching,; waiting for the other to speak.

Buffy braved it first even if she didn’t feel confident enough. “I…there’s no mistletoe,” she said lamely.

Spike’s eyes darkened with passion and he neared her mouth again. “Sod the mistletoe,” he growled.

They were kissing again, and none of the rest mattered. Long, wet, heated kisses—the type that stole minutes, hours, half days for the want of something more. His velvety tongue stroked her to points of ecstasy she hadn’t known kisses could bring. Then he was trailing down her neck, over her collarbone, and _oh god_ she felt him nip at her breast before he drew one of her too-sensitive nipples into his mouth and reality collapsed altogether. He teased her with his teeth then lapped at her with that magical tongue of his. Buffy cried aloud and held his head to her as the back of her own found a surface that had suddenly appeared behind her and her body wrenched a lever protruding from the wall.

The shower. They actually were in the shower. She hadn’t even noticed the change of scenery. And even with the water running, had he not pulled away for that fraction of a second, she doubted she would have anytime soon.

It didn’t matter the next second, though. Spike turned his free hand to her pants and tugged.

“Gotta get you outta this,” he murmured around her breast. “Gotta get you clean.”

“Clean…”

Somehow the rest of her clothing disappeared and she was naked in his arms. She didn’t know how it had happened—how he’d made it happen—but her pants were gone and her underwear was a thing of the past and Spike was still against her, dropping kisses against either breast, his hot gaze glued to her face.

Then he was working up her throat, mouth lavishing every inch of skin until he reached her lips again.

“You’re beautiful, Buffy.” He pulled back enough to come back into focus, for her to see his eyes were locked on hers. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

She swallowed hard. Why did it not seem like a line? It had to be a line.

“I mean it,” he said, as though reading her hesitation. “I look at you…if the sun shone so bright, I’d be a dead man. No creature of darkness could hide when she smiles like that. There’d be no shadows.” He tilted his head. “I’ve…this means something to me.”

Buffy’s head spun, floundered with poetry. “I—Spike…” A few seconds passed. “It means something to me, too. I don’t know…I…”

“Shhh.” He grinned and dipped his head to nibble at her throat. His free hand scaled over her flat stomach, below her belly button, then he had her sex pressed to his palm and _goddamn_ that felt amazing. He swallowed her gasp of surprise and moaned into her when she clutched at him tighter.

“Spike—”

“Shhh,” he murmured again. “Burn me alive, why don’t you?” He drew a finger between her pussy lips and she felt hot and wet and wetter than wet. “This all for me, sweet?” He spread her. She should be embarrassed but she was too turned on to give a damn. Especially when he dipped a finger inside her and _shit shit shit_ he felt so good she wanted to scream.

Hell. Maybe she would.

“Spike…jeans…” Buffy dropped her hands best she could while taking his with her and began tugging at his belt. “Want…need to feel you.”

“I—”

She didn’t know if he meant to protest or encourage, but it was too late. She emerged the victor. His cock sprang into her free hand and she began to give him back some of what he’d given her. He felt large against her palm, thicker even than he’d felt during the spell. Not that she’d touched him like this—those touches had been through his jeans with the promise of a later that hadn’t come. Still, as big as he’d felt then, it didn’t begin to compare to this.

“I’m a righty,” Buffy said awkwardly, pulling at his dick with her left hand. “So this is kind of—”

“Fuck.” Spike pressed his brow to hers and thrust his hips forward. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

“Kinda thinking it might be this.” She squeezed him at the base, then slowly dragged her hand up until her thumb was pressed against his cockhead. “Unless I’m wrong.”

He gasped, blinked at her, and amazingly, chuckled. “Buffy.” Spike nipped at her lips, the hand at her pussy resuming its torment. He edged another finger inside her, settled his thumb near her clit but not near enough. But she knew he knew what he was doing.

Those long, talented fingers of his began to pump her. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” Spike said.

A strangled moan escaped her throat and Buffy gripped his cock tighter—tighter than she would have felt comfortable with a normal guy, but Spike was not a normal guy. And she knew from the moan he fed her that her instincts were on the mark.

“So are you,” she said, meaning it. He was gorgeous.

“Fuck, Buffy…”

The sound sent shivers up her skin. Her name on his lips was sounding more and more natural.

Then his thumb was on her clit and _oh yes._ White hot sparks danced across her belly.

“Uhhh.”

“Wanted you,” Spike rasped at her ear, “so fucking long.”

Buffy was shaking so hard she might have fallen had the wall not been at her back, Spike at her front. She was pumping him in time with his own movements now, rewarding him every time he stroked her clit by dragging her thumb over the head of his cock. Words were beyond her. Coherent thought was beyond her. How this had gotten so far, she did not know or care. Her body ached for his in ways it had never before ached. There had been nothing before this.

“So long.” Spike pressed his thumb down on her clit and swallowed her whimper with his mouth. “You feel amazing around my fingers, love. Squeezing me. Fuck, just like that.”

Then everything came back to her. Words, logic, everything. Things she needed for this. Needed to convey what her body craved. It was a big step for anyone—for them, the gap between one extreme and the other would never close. Not so far off between love and hate—though no one had said anything about love—but large enough for her that she knew, even in a lust-filled haze, that everything would change after this. Everything.

He knew it, too. He would have pressed his cock into her body by now had he not known it.

“Spike,” she gasped. “I want you inside me.”

He froze, his eyes wide. “Buffy…”

“Please…” Her mouth found his ear. “Make love to me.”

It was amazing what silence could do to a room filled with sound. The water splattering at her back before hitting the tub and trickling into the drain. The gasps of air stolen from a guy who didn’t need it and a girl who couldn’t get enough. The bells in her head that she had always thought to be proverbial. All around her. Sound. She couldn’t get away from it.

“Buffy?”

Her nerve would have failed her had she not heard the hopefulness in his tone. And it took that to realize the significance of what she said.

 _Make love_ , not _fuck_. She asked him to make love to her. It was what she wanted—she hadn’t put any thought into the words. She had not considered what it meant, if anything. She had simply yielded to her body, to the ache stretching her insides that only he could quench.

The hope in his eyes moved her more than anything he could have said.

It meant something to him and that realization nearly prompted her to tears.

“Buffy…” He neared her lips again with near-reverence, dragging his fingers out of her. “Are you sure?”

“God, yes.”

“Say it again.” He smiled when she shot him a questioning look, the probing tip of his cock sliding down the seam of her pussy before settling where she needed him. “I just need to hear it. Prove to myself that this is real.”

Buffy stared at him for a few awed, endless seconds. “Spike, I—”

And then it happened. The thing happened. The breach between reality and this stolen paradise crumbled completely. Not even the running water could smother the sound.

It was the front door. Someone was banging on the front door.

Spike’s eyes went wide. “Buffy…” He looked to her for an answer to a question he had asked. And they stared at each other for endless seconds. “What…”

Whatever she said next came out of pure panic. The sort of panic that strikes right before you do something that would change the course of your life.

It seemed forever had passed, but it had only been a day. A day of stolen time. They’d had their day. They had somehow gotten here. And now the outside world had come knocking to remind them kindly that it still existed.

So she panicked.

“It might be Giles.”

And instantly regretted it the minute the words escaped her lips. It wasn’t Giles. They both knew it wasn’t Giles. Were it Giles, he would have no earthly reason to knock. It was his apartment, after all.

Spike saw this, of course. Read it in her eyes as she stopped at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the height she had to jump. As she questioned whether or not he would catch her or let her fall.

And there was doubt. In that second, there was doubt.

Buffy watched his resignation and it all came back. She opened her mouth to protest as he pulled away, but it didn’t matter. His eyes had gone distant. He was suddenly miles away from her.

“Right,” he said shortly. “Might be Giles.”

“Spike—”

The water suddenly stopped running. “Come on. We gotta have a robe or somethin’ to cover you with, right?”

“Spike—”

It was no use. He wouldn’t listen. He jerked her out of the shower, and she followed as though watching her life being played for her by someone who no longer knew her lines. He dressed her as modestly as possible, and as closely as possible before pulling up his sodden jeans. The robe hung awkwardly off her right shoulder, lacking a way to get around her arm. Didn’t matter. He tugged the bottom closed with quick, damn near clinical movements. Frustration practically rolled off his body and echoed through her own, but she didn’t know what to say to make it better.

It wasn’t Giles. They both knew that going to the door.

It wasn’t Giles. And it wasn’t Willow. It was a deliveryman. A deliveryman who took a long, obnoxious look at them and smirked before handing over a package.

The solvent, of course. It was the solvent. It was here now. Now of all times.

Three days early.


	5. Chapter 5

A miserable day passed.

A long, dull, uneventful day spent watching every holiday special the television had to offer. She sat empty-handed, every now and then flexing her fingers with the blind expectation that Spike would materialize at her side. It was as though a part of her had been severed.

Buffy really had no one to blame but herself. Evidently, Xander had phoned Cordelia at Angel Investigations before he and Anya had left for Oregon and explained the situation in hopes of their having some influence—or, at the very least, funding. A later conversation with Wesley confirmed that Angel had about flown through the roof when he’d learned that Spike was literally stuck to his former girlfriend and had bullied some local vendors into upping the delivery date of the solvent.

In a matter of minutes, Buffy’s world had collapsed. The look on Spike’s face had been unreadable—more distant than she had ever seen him.

It only got worse after they were released. He had jerked away from her, stormed back to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. And that was that.

Now a day had passed and she felt empty. Empty and ridiculous for feeling empty. It was impossible to develop these sorts of feelings in a day. She knew that. And she should have been grateful that Xander had gotten Angel involved—that she’d been stopped before she and Spike had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. After all, it would have made a mistake. A terrible, awful, no good very bad mistake.

At least, that was what she told herself until waking up in her own room the next morning and suffering through the dreaded _oh-god-that-really-happened_ replay. The house was big and empty; she didn’t realize how much she had been looking forward to a Christmas at Giles’s apartment until she toddled downstairs to the smell of nothing. No Christmas cookies. No Christmas breakfast. No Christmas anything. Her mother was making breakfast in another town for the holidays. It was Christmas Eve, Giles’s present remained unfinished, and her heart was broken because of a stupid vampire and some stupid glue.

Well, more stupid Xander calling stupid Angel who had to ruin everything with his stupidity.

Buffy glanced to her right hand that was no longer attached to Spike’s.

Stupid glue.

Stupid crush.

Stupid crush that was now oh so much more than a crush. Because the small-minded men in her life didn’t know when to butt out. Because she had stood on the brink of something wonderful only to have it ripped away from her the moment it was within view.

 _Make love,_ she’d said.

Of all the ways to…and she had chosen that one.

And then she panicked. She had been so ready to make love with Spike one moment and had chickened out the next. The PTB had offered her a way out and, being the big chicken that she was, she had jumped at it. Grabbed it, hogtied it, and started up the fire. And in the process, she’d ruined whatever the vampire felt for her—or disrespected it to a degree where reconciliation was out of the question.

It was something, too. He felt something. Something powerful. She hadn’t recognized it until it was too late.

So what did this mean? Her heart was hurting and her head was full. In a day, her crush had turned into something so much more. Something that made her ache. Her body felt broken and her eyes refused to remain dry. Every Christmas special ended in happiness, guaranteeing much use out of the Kleenex box that remained faithfully at her side.

 _Make love,_ she’d said. _Make love._

She had used the word aloud. She had looked at Spike and said _love_. But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

But if it didn’t, why did she feel this way? Why were her temples throbbing? Why couldn’t she keep from reaching for a new tissue at everything Christmassy that flashed across the television? Why the hell were commercials for the Gap making her cry? Why was she hurting? It didn’t make any sense. He was just a stupid vampire. It wasn’t as though she…

Buffy froze. Her heart stopped. Her eyes went wide. And the world rolled off its axis.

_Oh god._

_No._

She did.

_Did not._

She loved Spike.

_Not true. So not true._

She was completely, entirely, agonizingly, and helplessly in love with Spike.

_Oh god._

What an appropriate moment to be interrupted. Buffy leaped off the couch the moment she heard the doorbell ring, her head spinning so fast it was a miracle when she didn’t fall back down again. This was the way it happened in the movies. The main character reaches her epiphany and then the doorbell rings with her love on the other side, soaked with rainwater and looking for all the world like he could ravish her on the front porch.

Of course, her life being as it was, it came as no surprise whatsoever that it was Willow, looking abnormally perky.

And Willow wasn’t alone.

Buffy blinked. “Riley?”

Willow frowned and shook her head. “No. Me, Willow.”

“Will, why is Riley here?”

She shrugged. “He was strong enough to help me move the big chest?”

Then Riley plowed inward, forcing the girls to the side as he heaved the chest over the threshold. He nodded at Buffy with a goofy aren’t-I-being-so-helpful look on his face. She returned it best she could but there was no feeling behind it.

The chest. They had gone to Giles’s for the chest.

“I just thought we needed to finish it, right?” Willow added obligingly. “And since Xander and Anya are out of town, I thought I’d call Riley and see if he could give us a hand.”

God, they _had_ gone to Giles’s place.

“Yeah, we need to finish it,” Buffy agreed with a forced smile, trying to quell the pounding in her chest.

If they had gone to Giles’s, they had seen Spike. Had he said anything? Was he there? Was he okay? Why wasn’t Willow asking why he hadn’t been chained up? Why wasn’t Willow asking about what had happened? Why wasn’t Willow asking why she was there at all, and not house-sitting like she was supposed to be?

What if Riley had killed Spike? Well, no. Extreme much? That was ridiculous. Spike didn’t have _VAMPIRE_ tattooed to his forehead, at least not to someone who didn’t know what they were looking for. She was just being paranoid.

And god, how it was showing.

“Spike?” Buffy asked, unable to contain herself. “Did you see Spike?”

A frown pressed upon Willow’s lips. “Yeah…” she said slowly, trading a long glance with Riley. “Well, I spoke with him on the phone before we got there. Buffy, did you know that he was…umm…out and about?”

Buffy shook her head. “Is he okay?”

“What?” Riley asked, coming back into view. “Did you two have another fight?” He grinned humorously at the perplexed look on Willow’s face. “These two can’t seem to decide if they’re getting married or not.”

“Yeah, because that’s not going to need an explanation,” Buffy muttered.

“Buffy?”

“I…uhhh…” _I’m in love with a vampire. Again. And this one doesn’t have a soul. But he has a chip and he has me and I think he might love me too. Maybe._ “I…we should work on Giles’s thing, right? He gets in soon and we still don’t have the lid or the engravings. We should…really…get working.”

Willow and Riley stared at her blankly.

_Yeah, Buff. Way to make with the smooth._

Oh, thank god. Phone.

Buffy smiled apologetically and edged toward the kitchen. With any luck, it would be her mother wanting to chat for an hour and a half about Christmases past and how she wished she could be there to share it with her, especially since it was her first Christmas away from home.

But it wasn’t her mother.

“Hello?”

A long, tortured pause and she heard him inhale. And just like that, the room started spinning.

“Buffy.”

Buffy’s eyes fell shut. The world threatened to crash with the sudden abandonment of the weight she’d been carrying. He had called. He had called her home. Spike wanted to talk to her. _Finally._

God, he sounded as though he was in as much pain as she was.

“Spike…” Buffy swallowed, her heart thundering. “I’m…I’m sorry. It… I didn’t mean what happened.”

There was a pause, then a long sigh. “Yeah, Slayer, figured that much,” he said in his all-business-vampire voice. “And since I know your virtue’s fluttering, don’t worry. Know you’d stake me nice and proper if I blabbed. Was just callin’ to—”

_Gah._

“No, not that. Not what I said when I… Unless you didn’t mean it, either. I was talking about what…I…I shouldn’t…” She frowned miserably. “Why is this so difficult? What I said to you in the… I _meant_ that. I didn’t mean what happened after that.”

Another long pause. She could practically hear the seconds ticking away. And with every lingering beat, her heart wrenched with the conviction that he was about to bark something about how she was sex-starved and depraved and that he’d just been tickled to find out that she’d let him between her dimpled knees at all.

She waited for him to say that. Waited for him to break her heart.

It never came.

“Do you…” His voice was oddly shrill. “You mean it, sweetheart?”

_Sweetheart._

A warm smile crossed her lips, relief pouring through her in waves. Everything was going to be all right.

“I do. I tried to tell you, but I—”

“I know,” Spike said. “Didn’t wanna hear it. I thought you’d… Slayer, I need to see you.”

There was a new note in his voice—anxious and desperate.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be over in just—”

“Buffy?” Riley poked his head around the corner. “Buffy, who is it?”

Buffy squeaked and jumped, having forgotten the house wasn’t unoccupied. She blinked at Riley for a long moment, then inhaled deeply as she realized there was no way Spike hadn’t heard his voice.

No way at all.

Unfortunately, Riley was a miserable disaster when it came to reading body language and failed to interpret her seething glare as means to shut up and walk away. Instead, he edged forward a step and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Buffy?”

“Buffy,” Spike growled at last. “What. Is. He. Doing. There?”

“He and Willow dropped off the chest,” she explained hurriedly. “You knew that. Will said they dropped by.”

“Why is he _in your house_?”

The man at her side refused to take a hint. “Is that the boyfriend? Or the fiancé? You guys _on_ again?”

It was more out of habit than anything, but she opened her mouth and said the thing that had the power to make everything worse. “He’s not my fiancé.”

And that was it. Spike growled in her ear and slammed the phone on the hook before she had time to catch herself. Buffy’s eyes went wide and her body froze—indifferent that Riley and now a curious Willow were staring at her.

It had been dumb to say it, though it was the truth. Spike wasn’t her fiancé but he was…something. _They_ were something. And not owning it had cost her. Because he knew Riley was the guy she’d been…well, not quite dating but definitely pursuing. Riley was the guy who wanted to date her.

And instead of claiming Spike as something, she’d done the other thing. And now it was over.

The phone fell from her hands as she struggled to find the nearest surface. Oh god. That was it.

_It was over._

“Buffy?”

She forced herself to meet Willow’s eyes. “That…that was Spike. He…he wanted to…”

And in a snap, it all came together. Nothing overly climactic. Nothing that wouldn’t have come to her otherwise. Just the knowledge—the recognition that she wasn’t the protagonist in one of those cheesy romance films who cried over the men they loved when it came to silly misunderstandings. She was much more than that. She was the Slayer, and she knew what she had to do. Her mind wracked with newfound determination.

“I have to go.”

Riley frowned. “Go? Buffy—”

“I have to go. Will.” Buffy stopped again and searched her friend’s eyes. “Something’s…changed. With me and Spike. And I need to go. I’ll call you later.”

“Buffy—”

“Just…try to get the chest done, all right? Take all the credit. All of you. Giles will like it. I just…” She shook her head. “There’s some place that I gotta be.”

No more games. No more excuses. No more hiding. No more glue.

There would be nothing between but honesty.

That or nothing at all.

*~*~*

They stared at each other for endless seconds. Him in the doorway, stonewalling her with his gaze. She on the porch, a half-smile on her face, her right hand dangling mistletoe above her head. Long seconds of nothing. Warred feelings, hurt glances, and deep breaths that she could not identify as his or hers. Her heart was thrumming much too loudly to take anything into account.

It was the longest silence of her life.

Buffy licked her lips and shrugged lightly when nothing happened.

“I brought mistletoe,” she said lamely.

The storm behind his eyes flickered. Then it was over. Before she could pause to take a break, Spike had seized her by the shoulders and dragged her over the threshold, assaulting her mouth with his. And that was it. Buffy moaned her relief into him and dropped the twinleaves to the ground, her arms going around his neck. The door slammed behind her and she was propped up against it the next second, Spike devouring her like a man starved, whimpering into her mouth as he encouraged her legs to go around his waist. He slipped one arm around her thighs as his other hand found her breast. The world was falling around her and she didn’t care. All that mattered was she was here. She was in his arms and he was kissing her into the next life.

It didn’t occur to her until he wrenched his mouth away to pepper her throat with ardent, desperate kisses that, yes, she still needed oxygen to live. And still, it didn’t really matter. His arms were around her, his lips were on her, and his thick cock was pressed against her sex. All else could vanish for all she cared. She wasn’t the type to make the same mistake twice.

“Christ,” Spike moaned. “What took you so long?”

“I didn’t…I…” Buffy smiled and shrugged, tugging him down for another kiss. “Insanity?”

He nodded, his hands—both wonderfully free—dropping to the hem of her top and tearing it over her head. His lips found her throat again. “Must be,” he agreed before dragging that sinful tongue of his across her skin. “God, I nearly went outta my mind.”

She clenched him tighter at the words and began tugging his black tee off his sculpted chest. It joined hers on the floor the next instant. Then his skin was bare for her like it hadn’t been before, and she was all about the exploration. Because Spike was…well, there weren’t words. He looked like a freaking work of art—except this was art she could touch. Art that was hers. She dropped her mouth to his shoulder, curled her hands around his arms as he began nipping at the straps of her bra.

God. And she had nearly thrown this all away. All for what?

_How stupid can I be?_

Suddenly, he pulled away “Buffy,” he said softly. “Buffy, look at me.”

It was then she realized her eyes were practically sealed shut. She opened them and took him in. The look on his face was unlike any she’d seen, even with what had happened. It was vulnerable and hopeful and one hundred percent Spike.

And he was hers.

“Buffy,” he said again, brushing a few unruly locks of hair from her flushed face. “Are you sure?”

God, she had never been more sure or unsure of anything in the whole of her existence. She only knew that life would be a little worse if she walked away now. And a little worse than that the next day, and the next day, until life was altogether unbearable.

“Yes,” she said. “Spike. I’m so sorry for yesterday. I don’t know what… I’m just… I want you.”

He moaned in protest. “Want you, too, kitten. So fucking much. So much. Jesus…” He released a ragged breath and smiled. “For as bloody long as I can remember.”

Buffy nodded, tugging him forward to ravage his lips again as her hands dropped to the waistband of his jeans. “I was scared,” she confessed between heated kisses, her bra joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor. “I wanted you, wanted _that…_ Then it was happening. Didn’t know what it meant.”

Spike bowed his head to her breast and drew one of her aching nipples into his mouth. “Means you’re mine,” he rasped, then seized her lips. It was another few minutes before either could form words. He grinned at her. “Always have been.”

The certainty in his words shook her down to her core. “Oh?”

“Absofuckinglutely.” He ran his tongue over his teeth in a manner he had to know turned her on almost more than his mouth and hands on her body. “And I’m yours. Christ, can’t you feel it?” Nimble fingers tugged at her nipples, reeling her in for another round of Death by Spike Kissage. “I’ve felt it. With you. It’s so different. More than anythin’ I’ve felt before.” A whisper of his tongue against the pulse of her throat. “Didn’t know, though. Couldn’t. Not until…”

“Oh…”

“Buffy…” He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. “Upstairs.”

“Huh?”

“Not gonna do this against a door. Want you upstairs. In a nice warm bed. Wanna worship you like you deserve.” He buried his face almost shyly into the crook of her throat, planting small kisses on every patch of skin he could find. “My goddess.”

Buffy hugged herself to him. Her skin tingled, her mind drowning in promise. She nodded, and then she was in his arms. It was a slow spiral from the foyer of the loft to the tangled rumble up the stairs. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself tossed on a mattress as rough, eager hands tore her pants down her legs.

“So beautiful,” Spike murmured, his voice coaxing her eyes open. He looked like a fallen angel at her bedside, clad in nothing but unbuttoned jeans. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Spike…”

Buffy released a slow whimper. She sat up and yanked at his jeans with renewed conviction. A resounding gasp sang through the air as his cock sprang into her hands. His head reeled back, his fingers threading through her hair, and he looked like he was somewhere between tortured and the opposite of torture. Like he could lose it just from being touched. Buffy smiled and rubbed her cheek against his shaft as she cupped his balls. This was the first time she had ever truly studied a man—never having been brave enough to ask such a thing of Angel. And Parker? He’d asked her to go down on him and she’d done it, but she hadn’t wanted to. She’d been so nervous she hadn’t really paid attention to what she was doing, and in the dark, she hadn’t been able to see much.

Spike was different. She wanted this with him. It was special—he made her feel special. Cherished.

Loved.

She stroked him slowly, her eager fingers running laps up his cock before exploring his balls again. She savored every shudder that rippled through his body, and when her mouth decided it wanted in on the action, it felt like the logical next step.

Spike gasped hard when her tongue encircled him, his eyes going wide, searching her as though unable to believe what he was seeing. “Fuck. _Fuck,_ Buffy.”

She murmured approvingly, lips sucking his cockhead into her mouth. She curled her right hand at the base of his erection and squeezed her encouragement. There was no demand behind the slow, rhythmic thrusts of his hips. He let her do what she wanted, as she wanted, and what she wanted was him. Confidence building, Buffy began sucking him in earnest, dragging his cock as deep as she could before pulling back and trying again. His moans and gasps colored the air, interspersed with the occasional explosion of incoherent praise. Her instincts completely overcame her fear as his dick grew harder in her mouth. He began trembling, his hands fisting her hair, and she knew he was close. She had Spike at her mercy and—

Then his hands were on her shoulders and she’d been shoved back to the mattress. Buffy inhaled raggedly, her confidence shattering. Goddammit, could she never get this part right?

One look at his smoldering gaze, though, had her questioning herself all over again.

“Did I…” Buffy flushed and looked away. “Did you not…did I do something wrong? I thought you’d…like that.”

It took a few endless seconds, but his stare turned incredulous. “Did I… Pet, another second of that and I would’ve busted a nut.”

“That was kind of the point.”

He grinned. “Yeah, well, we can do that again. Later. But this is our first time and I want to come in your pussy.”

Buffy felt her face go hot. Or hotter. She licked her lips and he groaned, then shoved his jeans down the rest of the way. Then he was naked and she was staring at his cock, still slick with her saliva, and wondering how much of him she’d been able to fit in her mouth. If she could fit the whole thing.

And if he was larger than the other men in her life or just looked it.

There she was, blushing again.

Luckily, Spike seemed too preoccupied with the other bare and blushing parts of her to pay much attention to her face at the moment. “You drive me wild,” he purred. “Absolutely wild.” He was on her the next second; wrestling hot kisses from her mouth, hands everywhere. “God, Slayer, I’ve wanted you since that first moment.”

“Which moment?”

“Our first. Yours and mine.” His gaze kept trained on her face as he lowered his lips to her breasts. “You taste so good.” Fingers slid down her abdomen and hooked under her panties. “So warm and sweet.”

 _Coherent thought, failing._ “Uhh…”

“From the first moment, baby. At the Bronze. Saw you dancing with your mates and have wanted this ever since.” He began working his lips down her body. “More than I ever realized. More than anything else.”

Buffy cried out when she felt his tongue encircle her clit, her eyes wide with awe. She had thought this alone to be one of the things girls wanted but never got. Angel had offered but she’d been too embarrassed to say yes. The thought then had been so beyond her understanding that she’d shaken it off. By the time she’d decided it was something she wanted to experience, Angel had been gone. When she’d suggested it to Parker, he’d wrinkled his nose and said something about not liking the smell. He’d said he’d do it if she really wanted, though, and she’d been too ashamed to push the issue. The smell thing hadn’t even occurred to her.

Spike hadn’t given her the chance to ask—not that she would have because, well, the smell had to be a thousand times worse with him. Or something. But he was there now, his mouth on her pussy, pushing her to levels of ecstasy she hadn’t known existed.

And she was glad—glad she’d told Angel no. So much of that night had gone wrong. She’d associated sex with pain and heartache and fear and guilt. Parker hadn’t made her feel much better. But this, what Spike was doing to her, was new. And it was hers.

“I knew it,” he murmured before sinking his tongue into her. “Felt it.” He moved his fingers to her clit and began stroking her softly. Her body was drenched in sweat and her heart was thundering so hard it hurt to breathe. And it was worth it. Oh god, was it worth it.

“You have such a pretty pussy,” he murmured, slipping his fingers to her opening and pushing inside. “Taste so good. So fucking good. And you smell… Fuck, I could stay down here for hours.”

“Really?”

Spike blinked up at her, incredulous. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?”

“I…I…”

He lowered his head once more and then her clit was between his lips and he was purring around her wet flesh as his fingers thrust into her again and again. “Mmm.” He drew back, licked her clit once, twice, then looked at her again. “Wanna feel you come on my tongue. And around my fingers. And on my cock.”

“I…I think I want that too. Definitely the last thing and I think the first thing too. If that’s okay.”

“Think?” He arched an eyebrow. “This the first time anyone…?”

Buffy inhaled deeply, feeling embarrassed and hot at the same time. “If I say yes, will you please not laugh at me?”

Spike blinked. “Laugh? Why would I—”

“My experience is on the limited side. You know of…well, both times. And—”

“And no other bloke ever gave you this?” He nuzzled her pussy, licked her clit again. “Fuck, I knew Angel was a tosser, but to have you and—”

“I asked him not to.” Not that she wanted to think about Angel right now, but it didn’t seem fair to her that he get the blame for her lack of understanding. “I didn’t know… It sounded weird to me. I wasn’t exactly sheltered, but I also didn’t know much about sex and I was so nervous and—”

“And he should’ve shown you.”

“Spike—”

“But thank fuck he didn’t. I get to now. His loss, my bloody gain.” He sucked her clit between his lips and tugged. “In every sodding way, Buffy. Every way. ’Cause we’re just getting started.”

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. “W-we are?”

“Goddamn right,” he growled against her flesh. “Fuck, I love you.”

That was it. The world stopped. Time came to a standstill, and everything crashed to the ground. Buffy’s eyes went wide, her hands finding his shoulders and clutching with need that did not have a name.

“What?”

He had gone ramrod still. “Bollocks.”

“Spike—”

“Buffy, I—”

“You love me?” She sat up slowly, cupping his face. “Really?”

“I…” He was quiet a few seconds. Then he shut his eyes in defeat. “I shouldn’t have said it. I—”

“I love you too.”

And just like that, the world started moving once more. He was looking at her again with wonder, though there was hope buried in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. “What?”

She smiled. “I love you, too. I don’t know how it happened…or why. But it did. I love you.” And then, in a classic twist of feminine illogic, her happiness swelled to the point there was nothing else to do but burst into tears. “I love you. And I’m so, so scared.” A powerful revelation in itself. It was a rare day when Buffy Summers admitted to any form of weakness. “Bad things happen when I love,” she explained. “Bad, bad things.”

A tremor ran through Spike’s body and his expression softened. He had her cradled to his chest almost instantly, running his hands down her back and through her hair. “No, kitten. Not this time.” He palmed her cheek. “Not now. You have any idea what love does to me? How deep I feel it? I’m never lettin’ you go. Not after this.”

“Really?”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t leave. Once I’m yours, I’m yours for bloody life. And I’ve been yours since the beginning.”

“But…” That didn’t make sense. “But…Dru?”

Spike snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, Dru. Kicked me out on my firm, lickable ass because of you. She knew I was a goner long before I did.”

“That’s not the story I heard.”

“Yeah, well, you heard the abridged version. Full story is just that. She knew how I felt about you. Drove her right batty, it did. Well…” Spike paused and winked. “More so than usual. I mean, honestly. A Chaos Demon?” He spread his arms. “Really?”

Buffy stared at him for a moment, then giggled. “Her loss, my gain,” she said, grinning when he smirked at having the words thrown back at him.

Then he growled and buried his face in her throat. “My gain, you mean. Can’t thank her enough for what she did. Sendin’ me back to you.” He whispered a kiss across her skin. “I didn’t know, though. Had to suss that one out on my own. Even when she up and told me, I didn’t know what she was saying. Took Red’s spell for me to open my bloody eyes.” He pressed his brow to hers. “Took bein’ glued at your side to know it was real. Everythin’ was real. Wanted it to be a spell so bad, but you have to look at life differently when she’s curled up right beside you. Driving you outta your mind. And you did. Drove me outta my mind. And when I thought you…there was a chance that you might’ve felt…”

Buffy blinked. “Is it weird that I know exactly what you mean?”

He grinned at her, kissed her, and pushed her back to the mattress. “Bloody miracle, more like. I love you.” He parted her pussy lips and slipped those two magical fingers of his back inside her, reminding her of where they were and what she wanted. “So much it hurts.”

“It hurts?”

“Only in the best way, baby.” Spike’s grin widened, then his fingers slipped out of her. She watched as he coated his erection with her wetness and realized it was about to happen for real this time.

Because then he was over her, above her, his cock nudging her entrance as he had the previous night right before everything had gone to hell. Only now it’d take the actual apocalypse to get her to move.

“Last chance,” he murmured. “We can wait if you want, sweetheart.”

“You say that when you’re like this?”

“Well, I don’t particularly _want_ to wait, but you can still say no. Anytime you want. If you need time or what all to know—”

Buffy gripped his forearms, linked her legs around his waist and leveraged her strength to drive his hips forward and his cock into her pussy.

“Oh fuck,” Spike moaned. “Fuck _fuck fuck,_ Buffy.”

She arched her neck. “Yes. I like that idea.”

“Fuck yes.” Spike clenched his jaw clenched, his eyes falling shut as the most gorgeous look of bliss overwhelmed his features. He pulled back, dragging his cock away, then slammed back into her before she had the chance to miss him. “Waiting’s overrated.”

“Entirely.”

“Oh fuck.” His head collapsed against her shoulder, his hips pumping in slow, deep movements. “Fuck, so tight. Fuck fuck fuck.”

Buffy grinned, linking her hands around his neck. “Monosyllabic, much?”

He growled and withdrew with a sharp thrust that rapidly turned that grin into a surprised gasp of pleasure. “Condescending bitch.”

“Hey!”

“With stupid hair…”

Buffy dug her nails into his forearms as he pumped his cock in and out of her. For whatever he said, there was love in his eyes to contradict it. Love to redefine her expectations. To make him just as he was—Spike, whether he be snarking with her at the Bronze or pounding her into the mattress at Giles’s apartment. He was as he was.

And he loved her.

“Who I fucking adore.” Spike dipped his head to the column of her throat and licked a wet path to her lips. “I love you, Buffy,” he gasped, thrusts growing sharper. “God, you feel so good.”

“You too.” Her eyes fell shut. Experience notwithstanding, she would never have thought it could be like this—that he could make her feel these things, make her this hot and needy without bruising her. That sex could be hard and hot or soft and sweet or some combination in between but still be _this._

“You’re so tight. So fucking perfect.” Spike kissed her, pumping harder now, thrusting again and again into her pussy as he murmured incoherent nothings into her ear, as the bedsprings whined, as her insides came to life. “Never,” he gasped. “Never been like this.”

“Never,” she agreed. “I’ve never…oh god.”

“Buffy, look at me.”

She did. The sounds of their bodies smacking together filled her ears. She could see him, his cock as it slipped in and out of her, and the sight made her burn so hot she thought she might tumble on that alone. No wonder guys liked porn so much.

“Tell me this is real,” Spike murmured.

Another fear he was helping her answer. Even with him pistoning deep within her, awakening new emotions, a part of her feared she was dreaming.

But it had to be real. It had to be.

And she told him.

“Real. It’s real.”

He thrust deeper into her, and she arched with a muffled cry in turn.

“Oh god,” she gasped. “So real.”

“You feel so good, Slayer. _My_ slayer.” He pulled back until his cock slipped out of her completely.

Buffy dug her nails deep enough into his arms to draw blood. “Spike!”

“Mmm.” He grinned, taking his dick in his hand and rubbing the head along her labia. He pressed upward until he was teasing her clit with it, his jaw tight but his eyes on fire. “Love that sound.”

“Spike, please.” She wriggled. “Please!”

“Love the way you feel.” He trembled, dragging the tip of his cock along her flesh, circling her clit and doing it all over again. “Love the way you look. The way you smell.”

“Spike, for the love of god, fuck me.”

His eyes blazed, blue melting briefly to yellow, and then he was slamming inside her again. “Love _you_ above bloody all.”

Buffy flung her head back against the mattress and mewled, tightening her muscles around him every time he drove inside her. Squeezing softly at first, then with growing desperation. Had she been thinking clearly, she might have worried about hurting him.

Except when the fog lifted, and she heard him—“Oh yes. Fuck yes. Just like that, Slayer. Squeeze me like that. Fuck, you’re incredible. So fucking incredible.”—she realized those fears would have been void.

Spike didn’t expect her to be anything except herself.

“Say it, Buffy,” he gasped. “Say it again.”

“I love you. I love you, Spike. I love you.”

Their pants merged into one collective as his thrusts grew frenzied. She became tighter and wetter each time he plunged inside—she was close, so close. So far within the bounds of that one moment of perfection that she had always fantasized in some form of reality. She felt his hands on her—one brushed her hair from her eyes as he caressed her lips with a kiss, the other traveled the length of her body and slithered between them until he had a finger pressed against her clit. His mouth returned to her throat and she thought—hoped?—he’d bite her, but he didn’t. Instead, he moved south until he had a nipple between his teeth.

And that was it. That tight ball of pleasure was ready to explode. “Oh god,” she gasped, arching off the bed. “I’m…”

“Love you.” He bit lightly into her breast as he drew circles around her clit. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

And that was it. Buffy arched off the bed and began to tremble, gripping him tight as his name rumbled through her throat. A sensory explosion followed—she felt it with everything. Every nerve in her body wound and cried out. The stars that she had always thought proverbial danced in front of her. And he followed her, quenching her fire before she gave in to the burn.

Hours later, it seemed, when he lifted his head to study her face, he melted with an endless expression of wonder. “Christ almighty…” he murmured. “Never.”

“Never what?”

“Felt anything like that. You’re amazing.” With a sweet smile, he lowered his cheek to her chest again. “You all right?”

Buffy grinned and stretched, earning a moan when her muscles clenched around his semi-hard cock. “I’m perfect.”

“Told you as much.” He brushed a kiss at the swell of her breast. “Not squishing you?”

A scoff. “As if.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m all comfy.” In direct contradiction, though, he rolled them over so that she was sprawled across him. He slipped out of her and tugged the blankets until they were covered. A far cry from just two days ago, when she had demanded clothes and a good three feet of distance.

It seemed a lifetime had passed since then.

Buffy smiled at the thought, etching mindless patterns into his chest. “Definitely it,” she decided.

“What?”

“Best Christmas ever.”

“Oh, right.” Spike raised his head at that. “And appropriate, too. Happy Christmas, pet.”

“Past midnight?”

“Just now.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She snuggled happily against him. “I’ll have to get your Christmas present later.”

“Oh?”

“Didn’t know I loved you when I was all with the shopping. Besides, after-Christmas sales. Always a bonus.”

She felt him smile. “You’ve already given me everything I could’ve wanted, sweetheart,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Nothin’ can hope to top what you gave me tonight.”

The notion warmed her, but she pinched him in jest. “You mean I’m not getting a prezzie? Humph. Some boyfriend you are.”

“Oh, so my endless love and devotion isn’t enough for you? And did you just call me your boyfriend?”

“Well, the title is up for grabs.”

Spike blessed her with that gorgeous smile of his and succeeded in taking her breath away for the thousandth time that night. “Not anymore, it’s not,” he growled and kissed her fiercely. “And no girlfriend of mine goes without a shiny from her personal sex-god ’round Christmastime.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Sex-god?”

“Makes us well matched, eh, kitten?” He smirked and stretched beneath her. “So…whaddya gonna give me?”

“Ummm…” She slipped her hand between them until it was wrapped around his cock. “How about the second half of that blowjob?”

Spike moaned. “I love this holiday,” he decided.

And Buffy, for once, could not argue with him.


	6. Chapter 6

 

“You’re sure about this?”

“Never been more so.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow. “You understand why I worry, right? You don’t seem to be takin’ this very seriously.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and sat up, making a full effort to not give a damn that she was completely in the buff and that the blankets were bunched at the end of the bed. In the four days since they had gone public with their relationship, Spike had used every trick he knew to eradicate her shyness when it came to nudity. Especially when he was in the room.

After finding them sinning rampantly in his bed, Giles had given them the boot and closed himself off with a bottle of hard liquor and some eyeglass polish. It had proved to be an uncomfortable Christmas, but Buffy had honestly never been happier. With Spike’s prompting, they had gone—as planned—to the Giles’s loft for the Christmas exchange. After assuring everyone that no, she wasn’t under another spell, Buffy had plonked herself in Spike’s lap and all but dared her friends or watcher to comment.

She had given Spike an IOU for Christmas. He had smirked and done the same.

That night, back at Revello Drive, Spike had handed her a bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup and a pair of handcuffs. What she did with them, he said, was completely up to her.

He was undoubtedly the most inventive lover she had ever had. And she’d told him so after she’d cuffed him to the bed and forced him to watch her eat vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup on top.

He said he hadn’t been amused, but that was a lie. And she’d rewarded him by applying the rest of her chocolate syrup to his body, licking it off, and starting over.

“Knew there was some kink in you, Slayer,” Spike had gasped as she’d swirled her tongue around one of his chocolate-covered nipples.

“Told you as much,” she had replied, lapping her way southward. “Now hush and be a good boy. Gonna suck on my chocolate ice pop.”

“Dirty girl.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah, I really do.” He had flashed her that sexy, warm smile that made her buttery in the nether regions and winked. There had to be some passage in the bible that condemned him to Hell for that alone—right next to the one that condemned her for enjoying it. And were that the case, they were beyond redemption. But they would enjoy it together, and that was all that mattered.

“Can’t be a good boy, you know,” he had said as she’d teased the teased the underside of his cock with her tongue, lapping up every drop of chocolaty goodness that she had spilled. “It’s against my nature.”

“Mmmm,” she had mused in turn before closing her mouth around him. “You’re being a good boy now.”

“If you uncuff me, I’ll prove you wrong in half a bleedin’ second.”

“Don’t think so. You gave me the cuffs.”

“Didn’t know you’d take to ’em like a sodding pro.”

“Never underestimate a slayer, pal.” She’d wrapped a hand around his cock and given him a good squeeze before her mouth returned to lick at the head. “Especially one just discovering her kink.”

“Good thing chocolate doesn’t require solvent, missy,” he had teased, arching as she’d taken him into her mouth again. “Fancy you get stuck that way. That’d be a story to explain to your mum.”

A lesson well learned. Right next to the one marked payback’s a bitch. Once released, Spike had cuffed her well and done things to her that merited serious blushing every time she so much as looked at a candy bar.

“Fancy you get stuck that way,” she had jested back as Spike had sucked her clit into his mouth. “My mother would…come at you…with an…ax.”

He had glanced up at her and winked. “Not very original, love.” And dipped his head back to the task at hand.

Yes, they had enjoyed a lot of fun with chocolate that night. In a matter of two days, it already felt like they had been in a relationship for years. The day after Christmas, in full awares of what shoppers tended to do after the big holiday was over, Spike had treated her to the mall where she’d bought him a ring in the style of his others, but with taste. He, in turn, had bought her a shiny new knife she couldn’t wait to take with her on patrol and an emerald necklace he’d selected because, his words, it brought out her eyes.

It also hadn’t lasted. Spike was very passionate in bed; enjoyed ripping things off her. The necklace was no exception. The next day, he’d turned up with a new one and a small, boyish look of apology on his face. They were careful to remove it before he chased her back to her bedroom.

The ring she gave him, she later noticed, was on his ring finger. He caught her looking at him, perplexed, and only smiled. It made her heart swell.

It was in the dawn of the fourth morning—after Spike awoke her with a shagathon that lasted longer than she wanted to admit—that he’d first mentioned ritualistic mating. Speaking in broad terms. Futuristic terms. Terms that warmed her with security. The notion that this was something that would be forever to him.

It was already forever to her. Buffy tended to take to love in terms of forever. Being a slayer, her forever was never guaranteed. She knew she loved Spike—she knew that the love they shared was unlike any she could begin to compare it to. It was new, granted, and strange, considering that they had been trying to kill each other not too long ago. But it wasn’t as though she didn’t know him. She did—she knew him better than she knew anyone, which was why loving him wasn’t such a drastic leap forward.

Slayers weren’t given forevers. They were about the moment.

So she’d suggested that they do it. Mate. The whole sacred thing: blood swap, claiming, a rite of passage—the full kahuna. He had given her this half-dazed, half-awed look before shaking his head and muttering something about how she didn’t know what she was saying.

She’d spent the rest of the afternoon convincing him with her hands and mouth that she knew full well what she was saying, and meant it more than anything.

So here they were—alone, naked, and in bed. Spike nervously running his hand up and down her arm, looking at her as though he expected her to vanish, and asking her every five seconds if she was  _really sure._

“I’m more than taking this seriously,” she said, and brushed a kiss over his hand. “You really don’t think I know what this means?”

“Think if you really knew what it meant, there’s no way you’d’ve suggested it.”

“Hey, you suggested it, pal.”

“With no thought to it actually happening.”

She pouted at that. “You don’t wanna claim me?”

And earned an incredulous, half-offended stare. “Don’t want to… Fuck, Buffy, of course I want to! You have any idea what the suggestion alone means to me? Have any sodding clue warped in that fuzzy mind of yours?” He shook his head, snorting. “I’ve never claimed anyone, pet. Never had anyone want me like that. Guess the thought that you…just takes me by surprise, s’all.”

Buffy frowned, sat up and took his face into her hands. “What? Never?”

He looked away, embarrassed. “Well, it’s not like I didn’t want to, right? And really, had I, you and I wouldn’t be here. I’m counting my blessings on that one.”

She smiled, though it dissolved the next second when he waved her hands aside and turned his gaze downward.

“No one’s ever wanted… Well, Dru and… She didn’t… ’Cause of sodding  _daddy_.”

“Angel?”

“One and bloody only, thank the maker. And you know what’s really funny, pet? It’s the same with everyone I…” He shot her a wounded glance. “It’s the same with everyone.”

“You think I’m just saying this because I can’t have Angel?” She bit in a gasp when he looked at her sharply, as though accusing her of voicing the words he had so clearly been thinking. “Spike, that’s ridiculous. I don’t want Angel. I want you. He can bang Cordelia for all I care.” That earned a small snort. She smiled and leaned into him. “He left. It hurt, but he…he didn’t get me. Not the way you do. And I got over it. I love you. Not him. Well, honestly, I’ll always feel something…first love and all.”

He growled.

“But you’re the last love. And the right one.” Buffy smiled when he finally understood the meaning behind those words and shot her one of those astonished looks that made her bones rattle. “When I saw Angel in LA… It was a closure thing. He left me without saying anything, so seeing him again…yeah…it was painful for that. Like the entire high school thing was really over and I had to accept that I’m in college and Giles is no longer a librarian and the transition was sort’ve complete. And again, true, didn’t think I’d fall in love again. Not so soon. Didn’t think it’d be with another vampire.”

Another growl.

“Didn’t think it’d be you.” She smiled and kissed him. “Can I tell you how glad I am that my line of thinking sucks? I love this. I love you. If Angel came through that door right now, curse free, you’d have nothing to worry about.”

It took a few minutes but he finally met her gaze. The uncertainty he guarded broke her heart five times over. “Really?”

“Yes, you big dork. I don’t say things like ‘I love you’ unless I mean them. Did I think I’d be saying it so soon? Of course not. But here I am. And I mean it. I love you, Spike. You, only you, until apocalypse do we part. And unless you don’t want to, you better get with the claiming, ’cause I—”

Buffy shrilled a small yelp as Spike tackled her back onto the mattress, pulling her mouth into a desperate, loving kiss. There was need there. Hunger that hadn’t been there before. Hunger that he’d kept shielded until now—until this moment—even from her. He kissed her until oxygen became crucial, then began a slow, teasing journey down her body.

“Guess I talked you into it, huh?” she said.

Spike murmured as his mouth engulfed a nipple, hand squeezing her neglected breast. His other hand was already teasing her pussy, palm pressing into her until she released a throaty cry.

Buffy clutched at his head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He released her breast with a wet plop. “Big yes, baby,” he agreed, continuing his pursuit down her body.

“I’ll definitely say.”

“You flatter.”

“You love it.”

“You win.”

She grinned. “Always do.”

She didn’t get to gloat for long. The second he slipped his fingers over her clit, a long whimper clawed its way to freedom. He grinned and edged a finger inside her. “This drives you wild, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Bein’ touched so slightly. Just feeling me. Bet I could bring you off just like this.”

“You could bring me off with your voice.”

“I knew it.” He dropped a kiss onto her stomach. “Only I like tasting you. So call me selfish, but I prefer this…” He buried his face in her pussy, pushed his tongue into her for a few quick laps before raising his eyes to hers again. “Much more.”

Buffy stared at him, blinking sweat from her eyes. “Oh yeah,” she agreed. “How selfish of you.”

“I know. Take, take, take.”

“Selfish greedy bastard.”

He circled her clit with his tongue, his fingers prying at her opening.

“Oh god. Don’t stop.”

“Mmmm,” he murmured into her. “Selfish greedy bastards don’t stop.”

“Love you, Spike. Love you so much.”

He smirked and lowered his head to nibble at her labia. “Christ. You taste like fine wine.”

“Less talky, more tasty.”

“Bossy bitch.”

“Greedy bastard.”

Spike rumbled a chuckle into her that shamed her at how good it felt. “I love you,” he whispered heatedly. “Love you so bloody much.” He deftly ignored the look he received, nipped at her clit and whimpered when she did. “You taste so good.”

Buffy cooed and thrashed, fisting the sheets for lack of anything to grip. She was learning steadily that even though he was a vampire, it still hurt to have his hair pulled. “God, Spike. Oh my god.”

“Never get tired of hearing you say my name like that,” he whispered, pumping his fingers into her before sealing his mouth over her clit again. He rumbled against her flesh, sending delicious vibrations through her body. It took so little for him to get her to the edge and all she wanted to do was hang on and keep feeling this as long as she could.

But with the way he nudged her with his mouth, worked his lips around her, stretched his fingers inside her, she couldn’t hold on. Buffy raised her wrist to her mouth and bit down to stifle her scream.

“Fuck,” Spike panted, consuming her with hungry eyes. “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“If the apocalypse comes now I won’t be able to move.”

“Ah, my evil plan is working.”

“Totally,” she gasped again as he prowled up her body.

He brushed a kiss over her lips, rubbing his cock against her stomach until she took him into her hand and positioned him at the mouth of her pussy. “Death by shagging. Seems a bloody brilliant way to go.” Another kiss at the hollow of her throat. “Mmm, feels good.”

“This?” She dragged his cock between her labia. Spike’s eyes fluttered shut briefly and he hummed a coo of pleasure, thrusting against her hand. When he didn’t respond, she squeezed him tighter and he offered a fierce nod, wedging an eye open to glare at her. “Thought so.”

“Wench.”

“You love it.”

“Don’t start that again.”

Buffy grinned. “I love you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s your excuse for everything.” He winked at her, whispered another kiss over her lips. “Gonna let me in?”

“And here I thought I was trying to convince you.”

He smirked and brought her hands up to either side of her head, lacing their fingers together. “You get an A for effort.”

Then he sank inside her on a moan. Deep. All the way. She rested her brow against his, whimpers scratching at her throat, her body pulsing simply with the sensation simply of being filled by him. With only days behind them, she wondered if there would ever come a time when this alone wouldn’t be too much. And when he began moving inside her—his mouth warring with her mouth, his hands roaming her body, hips battling hers, his cock pumping in and out of her— it was an opus of paradise. He brushed her hair from her face, teased her breasts with his teeth, and kept his blue eyes fixed on hers, filled with so much love she thought she might burst with it.

Pressure built without caution. The pace he set was slow but hard at the same time. He lavished her nipples with his tongue and peppered kisses along the underside of her breasts. She had her legs tight around him; her anchor, for everything would tumble if she thought to let go. She contracted her slayer muscles in time with his thrusts, and the smoldering look he gave her—no different but just as cherished as all the rest—sent her spiraling.

“Buffy,” he gasped. “I’m not gonna last.”

“Me neither. Do it.”

“Love you,” he growled on a hard thrust. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Buffy nodded, tugging him down for a hot, needy kiss. “Love you, too.”

He flashed a smile at her that warmed her heart, his right arm collapsing to the elbow. The other hand, never idle, wandered down the expanse of her sweat-slicked stomach, over her pubic bone, then finally settled over her clit.

“Come for me, baby. Come hard around my cock.”

“Spike…” She threw her head back. “Do it. Bite me.”

“Buffy—”

“Do it!”

There it was. That feral flash behind his eyes. Her own widened in turn and her heart galloped when his fangs descended, but not from fear. Never from fear. Fear had no place here.

Not even when he sank his incisors into her skin, triggering an orgasm that knocked her into the next world.

“Oh god!” she gasped, clutching at him desperately as his thrusts grew harder, his fangs lodged in her throat. “Oh…GOD!”

It was over in seconds. Just seconds. He drew back, then lapped sweetly at the mark. Her skin tingled.

“Mine,” he growled. “Mine. My Slayer. My Buffy. Mine!”

“Yours,” she agreed without thought, and he reeled his head back. “Yours. I’m so freakin’ yours.”

There was awe in his eyes. He honestly hadn’t thought she would go through with it.

Well, if that surprised him, what she intended to do next would knock his socks off.

“Buffy—”

Spike had no chance to react. No shot of stopping her, even if that had been his intention. She had lashed forward and fastened her blunt teeth into his throat over Drusilla’s mark hard enough to draw blood. Felt him explode within her, his body surging forward as her muscles squeezed and milked him for everything he was worth.

“Mine,” she whispered, then pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “As mine is yours.”

“Yours,” he gasped, hips rocking once, twice, three times, before he finally collapsed. “For fuckin’ ever. God…oh god, Buffy…”

She grinned impishly, her hard breaths mingling with his. Her body tingled still with a pleasant sensation that outmatched any post-coital repose she had ever enjoyed. “Didn’t think I’d do it, did you?”

Spike laved her wound with his tongue, his grasp on her possessive. “Buffy?”

“Mmm?”

“I just…god, I love you so much.”

She smiled and pressed a kiss into his throat. “I love you, too.”

“Forever. Right? This is forever?”

“Didn’t I just do the claimy thing?”

Spike chuckled and sat up, resting his weight on his elbows as he looked down at her. “Y’know,” he said. “I oughta write that glue company a thank you note.”

“You and me both.”

He smiled and rolled them over, snuggling her into his side. “Mmm. So…”

“So…?”

“Whaddya think we should make Rupert next year?”

Buffy blinked dumbly and twisted so that she could see the twinkle in his eyes. The same twinkle that gave way to numerous possibilities. A twinkle she was beginning to adore.

“Oh,” she replied coyly. “I dunno. But I do have some ideas.”

“Do you, now?”

“But they’re not for Christmas. You know, he has a birthday coming up.”

Spike smirked devilishly and rolled her over so that she was lying across his chest, and smiled into her eyes. “Oh really?” he asked, slithering a hand between them. “Do tell.”


End file.
